UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
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LIBRARY! 


ip  Ctlia  Cfjatfrr. 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN.    New  Edition.     With  Por- 
trait.    Crown  8vo,  $1.25. 

LETTERS     OF     CELIA    THAXTER.      Edited   by 
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AMONG  THE    ISLES   OF   SHOALS.     Illustrated. 
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HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 


CELIA  THAXTER 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

<$fc  tttoetfite  preft  CambriDge 


Copyright,  1894, 
fir  HOUGHTON,  MIFFUN  &  CO. 

Ail  rights  reserved. 


•: 


sfb 


MRS.  MARY  HEMENWAY 

"WHOSE  LARGENESS  OF  HEART  IS  EVEN  AS  THE 
SAND  ON  THE  SEASHORE " 

THIS  VOLUME 
IS  AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED 


PUBLISHERS'   NOTE 

"  An  Island  Garden  "  was  first  issued  ten  years 
ago,  in  an  expensive  form  with  lithographic  illus- 
trations in  color.  It  has  been  for  some  time  out  of 
print,  but  the  continued  inquiries  for  it  are  evi- 
dence of  its  permanent  interest  and  value.  To 
meet  these  inquiries  the  publishers  have  made  the 
present  popular  edition  of  the  book. 

BOSTON,  April,  1904. 


T  the  Isles  of  Shoals,  among  the 
ledges  of  the  largest  island,  Apple- 
dore,  lies  the  small  garden  which  in 
the  following  pages  I  have  endeav- 
ored to  describe.  Ever  since  I  could  remember 
anything,  flowers  have  been  like  dear  friends  to 
me,  comforters,  inspirers,  powers  to  uplift  and  to 
cheer.  A  lonely  child,  living  on  the  lighthouse 
island  ten  miles  away  from  the  mainland,  every 
blade  of  grass  that  sprang  out  of  the  ground, 
every  humblest  weed,  was  precious  in  my  sight, 
and  I  began  a  little  garden  when  not  more  than 
five  years  old.  From  this,  year  after  year,  the 
larger  one,  which  has  given  so  much  pleasure  to 
so  many  people,  has  grown.  The  first  small  bed 
at  the  lighthouse  island  contained  only  Marigolds, 
pot  Marigolds,  fire-colored  blossoms  which  were 
the  joy  of  my  heart  and  the  delight  of  my  eyes. 
This  scrap  of  garden,  literally  not  more  than  a 


vi  PREFATORY 

yard  square,  with  its  barbaric  splendors  of  color, 
I  worshiped  like  any  Parsee.  When  I  planted 
the  dry,  brown  seeds  I  noticed  how  they  were 
shaped,  like  crescents,  with  a  fine  line  of  orna- 
mental dots,  a  "  beading  "  along  the  whole  length 
of  the  centre, — from  this  crescent  sprang  the 
Marigold  plant,  each  of  whose  flowers  was  like 

"  a  mimic  sun, 
With  ray-like  florets  round  a  disk-like  face." 

In  my  childish  mind  I  pondered  much  on  this 
fact  of  the  crescent  growing  into  the  full-rayed 
orb.  Many  thoughts  had  I  of  all  the  flowers  I 
knew ;  very  dear  were  they,  so  that  after  I  had 
gathered  them  I  felt  sorry,  and  I  had  a  safe  place 
between  the  rocks  to  which  I  carried  them  when 
they  were  withered,  and  hid  them  away  from  all 
eyes,  they  were  so  precious  even  then. 

The  dear  flowers !  Summer  after  summer  they 
return  to  me,  always  young  and  fresh  and  beauti- 
ful ;  but  so  many  of  the  friends  who  have  watched 
them  and  loved  them  with  me  are  gone,  and  they 
return  no  more.  I  think  of  the  lament  of  Mos- 
chus  for  Bion :  — 

"  Ah  me,  when  the  Mallows  wither  in  the  gar- 
den, and  the  green  Parsley,  and  the  curled  ten- 
drils of  the  Anise,  on  a  later  day  they  spring,  in 
another  year;  but  we  men,  we,  the  great  and 
mighty,  or  wise,  when  once  we  have  died,  in  hol- 
low earth  we  sleep,  gone  down  into  silence." 


PREFATORY  vii 

Into  silence !  How  deep,  how  unbroken  is  that 
silence !  But  because  of  tender  memories  of  lov- 
ing eyes  that  see  them  no  more,  my  flowers  are 
yet  more  beloved  and  tenderly  cherished. 

Year  after  year  the  island  garden  has  grown 
in  beauty  and  charm,  so  that  in  response  to  the 
many  entreaties  of  strangers  as  well  as  friends 
who  have  said  to  me,  summer  after  summer, 
"  Tell  us  how  you  do  it !  Write  a  book  about  it 
and  tell  us  how  it  is  done,  that  we  may  go  also 
and  do  likewise,"  I  have  written  this  book  at  last. 
Truly  it  contains  the  fruit  of  much  sweet  and 
bitter  experience.  Of  what  I  speak  I  know,  and 
of  what  I  know  I  have  freely  given.  I  trust  it 
may  help  the  patient  gardener  to  a  reasonable 
measure  of  success,  and  to  that  end  I  have  spared 
no  smallest  detail  that  seemed  to  me  necessary,  no 
suggestion  that  might  prove  helpful. 


DUST. 

Here  is  a  problem,  a  wonder  for  all  to  see. 

Look  at  this  marvelous  thing  I  hold  in  my  hand  I 
This  is  a  magic  surprising,  a  mystery 

Strange  as  a  miracle,  harder  to  understand. 

What  is  it  ?    Only  a  handful  of  earth :  to  your  touch 
A  dry  rough  powder  you  trample  beneath  your  feet, 

Dark  and  lifeless  ;  but  think  for  a  moment,  how  much 
It  hides  and  holds  that  is  beautiful,  bitter,  or  sweet. 


viii  PREFATORY 

Think  of  the  glory  of  color !    The  red  of  the  rose, 
Green  of  the  myriad  leaves  and  the  fields  of  grass, 

Yellow  as  bright  as  the  sun  where  the  daffodil  blows, 
Purple  where  violets  nod  as  the  breezes  pass. 

Think  of  the  manifold  form,  of  the  oak  and  the  vine, 
Nut,  and  fruit,  and  cluster,  and  ears  of  corn ; 

Of  the  anchored  water-lily,  a  thing  divine, 

Unfolding  its  dazzling  snow  to  the  kiss  of  morn. 

Think  of  the  delicate  perfumes  borne  on  the  gale, 
Of  the  golden  willow  catkin's  odor  of  spring, 

Of  the  breath  of  the  rich  narcissus  waxen-pale, 
Of  the  sweet  pea's  flight  of  flowers,  of  the  nettle's  sting. 

Strange  that  this  lifeless  thing  gives  vine,  flower,  tree, 
Color  and  shape  and  character,  fragrance  too ; 

That  the  timber  that  builds  the  house,  the  ship  for  the  sea, 
Out  of  this  powder  its  strength  and  its  toughness  drew ! 

That  the  cocoa  among  the  palms  should  suck  its  milk 
From  this  dry  dust,  while  dates  from  the  self-same  soil 

Summon  their  sweet  rich  fruit :  that  our  shining  silk 
The  mulberry  leaves  should  yield  to  the  worm's  slow  toil. 

How  should  the  poppy  steal  sleep  from  the  very  source 
That  grants  to  the  grapevine  juice  that  can  madden  or 
cheer? 

How  does  the  weed  find  food  for  its  fabric  coarse 
Where  the  lilies  proud  their  blossoms  pure  uprear  ? 

Who  shall  compass  or  fathom  God's  thought  profound  ? 

We  can  but  praise,  for  we  may  not  understand  ; 
But  there 's  no  more  beautiful  riddle  the  whole  world  round 

Than  is  hid  in  this  heap  of  dust  I  hold  in  my  hand. 


AN   ISLAND  GARDEN 


|F  all  the  wonderful  things  in  the  won- 
derful universe  of  God,  nothing  seems 
to  me  more  surprising  than  the  plant- 
ing of  a  seed  in  the  blank  earth  and  the 
result  thereof.  Take  a  Poppy  seed,  for 
instance :  it  lies  in  your  palm,  the  merest  atom  of 
matter,  hardly  visible,  a  speck,  a  pin's  point  in 
bulk,  but  within  it  is  imprisoned  a  spirit  of  beauty 
ineffable,  which  will  break  its  bonds  and  emerge 
from  the  dark  ground  and  blossom  in  a  splendor 
so  dazzling  as  to  baffle  all  powers  of  description. 

The  Genie  in  the  Arabian  tale  is  not  half  so 
astonishing.  In  this  tiny  casket  lie  folded  roots, 
stalks,  leaves,  buds,  flowers,  seed-vessels,  —  sur- 
passing color  and  beautiful  form,  all  that  goes  to 
make  up  a  plant  which  is  as  gigantic  in  propor- 
tion to  the  bounds  that  confine  it  as  the  Oak  is 
to  the  acorn.  You  may  watch  this  marvel  from 
beginning  to  end  in  a  few  weeks'  time,  and  if  you 
realize  how  great  a  marvel  it  is,  you  can  but  be 
3 


4  AN   ISLAND  GARDEN 

lost  in  "  wonder,  love,  and  praise."  All  seeds  are 
most  interesting,  whether  winged  like  the  Dande- 
lion and  Thistle,  to  fly  on  every  breeze  afar ;  or 
barbed  to  catch  in  the  wool  of  cattle  or  the  gar- 
ments of  men,  to  be  borne  away  and  spread  in  all 
directions  over  the  land;  or  feathered  like  the 
little  polished  silvery  shuttlecocks  of  the  Corn- 
flower, to  whirl  in  the  wind  abroad  and  settle 
presently,  point  downward,  into  the  hospitable 
ground;  or  oared  like  the  Maple,  to  row  out 
upon  the  viewless  tides  of  the  air.  But  if  I  were 
to  pause  on  the  threshold  of  the  year  to  consider 
the  miracles  of  seeds  alone,  I  should  never,  I  fear, 
reach  my  garden  plot  at  all ! 

He  who  is  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his 
mouth  is  generally  considered  a  fortunate  person, 
but  his  good  fortune  is  small  compared  to  that  of 
the  happy  mortal  who  enters  this  world  with  a 
passion  for  flowers  in  his  soul.  I  use  the  word 
advisedly,  though  it  seems  a  weighty  one  for  the 
subject,  for  I  do  not  mean  a  light  or  shallow  affec- 
tion, or  even  an  aesthetic  admiration ;  no  butterfly 
interest,  but  a  real  love  which  is  worthy  of  the 
name,  which  is  capable  of  the  dignity  of  sacrifice, 
great  enough  to  bear  discomfort  of  body  and  dis- 
appointment of  spirit,  strong  enough  to  fight  a 
thousand  enemies  for  the  thing  beloved,  with 
power,  with  judgment,  with  endless  patience,  and 
to  give  with  everything  else  a  subtler  stimulus 
which  is  more  delicate  and  perhaps  more  neces- 
sary than  all  the  rest. 

Often  I  hear  people  say,  "  How  do  you  make 
your  plants  flourish  like  this?"  as  they  admire 


AN   ISLAND  GARDEN  5 

the  little  flower  patch  I  cultivate  in  summer,  or 
the  window  gardens  that  bloom  for  me  in  the 
winter ;  "  I  can  never  make  my  plants  blossom 
like  this !  What  is  your  secret  ?  "  And  I  answer 
with  one  word,  "  Love."  For  that  includes  all,  — 
the  patience  that  endures  continual  trial,  the  con- 
stancy that  makes  perseverance  possible,  the 
power  of  foregoing  ease  of  mind  and  body  to 
minister  to  the  necessities  of  the  thing  beloved, 
and  the  subtle  bond  of  sympathy  which  is  as  im- 
portant, if  not  more  so,  than  all  the  rest.  For 
though  I  cannot  go  so  far  as  a  witty  friend  of 
mine,  who  says  that  when  he  goes  out  to  sit  in 
the  shade  on  his  piazza,  his  Wistaria  vine  leans 
toward  him  and  lays  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  I 
am  fully  and  intensely  aware  that  plants  are  con- 
scious of  love  and  respond  to  it  as  they  do  to 
nothing  else.  You  may  give  them  all  they  need 
of  food  and  drink  and  make  the  conditions  of 
their  existence  as  favorable  as  possible,  and  they 
may  grow  and  bloom,  but  there  is  a  certain  in- 
effable something  that  will  be  missing  if  you  do 
not  love  them,  a  delicate  glory  too  spiritual  to  be 
caught  and  put  into  words.  The  Norwegians 
have  a  pretty  and  significant  word,  "  Opelske," 
which  they  use  in  speaking  of  the  care  of  flowers. 
It  means  literally  "  loving  up,"  or  cherishing  them 
into  health  and  vigor. 

Like  the  musician,  the  painter,  the  poet,  and 
the  rest,  the  true  lover  of  flowers  is  born,  not 
made.  And  he  is  born  to  happiness  in  this  vale 
of  tears,  to  a  certain  amount  of  the  purest  joy  that 
earth  can  give  her  children,  joy  that  is  tranquil, 


6  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

innocent,  uplifting,  unfailing.  Given  a  little  patch 
of  ground,  with  time  to  take  care  of  it,  with  tools 
to  work  it  and  seeds  to  plant  in  it,  he  has  all  he 
needs,  and  Nature  with  her  dews  and  suns  and 
showers  and  sweet  airs  gives  him  her  aid.  But 
he  soon  learns  that  it  is  not  only  liberty  of  which 
eternal  vigilance  is  the  price ;  the  saying  applies 
quite  as  truly  to  the  culture  of  flowers,  for  the 
name  of  their  enemies  is  legion,  and  they  must 
be  fought  early  and  late,  day  and  night,  without 
cessation.  The  cutworm,  the  wire-worm,  the 
pansy-worm,  the  thrip,  the  rose-beetle,  the  aphis, 
the  mildew,  and  many  more,  but  worst  of  all  the 
loathsome  slug,  a  slimy,  shapeless  creature  that 
devours  every  fair  and  exquisite  thing  in  the  gar- 
den, —  the  flower  lover  must  seek  all  these  with 
unflagging  energy,  and  if  possible  exterminate 
the  whole.  So  only  may  he  and  his  precious 
flowers  purchase  peace.  Manifold  are  the  means 
of  destruction  to  be  employed,  for  almost  every 
pest  requires  a  different  poison.  On  a  closet 
shelf  which  I  keep  especially  for  them  are  rows 
of  tin  pepper-boxes,  each  containing  a  deadly 
powder,  all  carefully  labeled.  For  the  thrip  that 
eats  out  the  leaves  of  the  Rosebush  till  they  are 
nothing  but  fibrous  skeletons  of  woody  lace,  there 
is  hellebore,  to  be  shaken  on  the  under  side  of  all 
the  leaves,  —  mark  you,  the  under  side,  and  think  of 
the  difficulties  involved  in  the  process  of  so  treat- 
ing  hundreds  of  leaves!  For  the  blue  or  gray 
mildew  and  the  orange  mildew  another  box  holds 
powdered  sulphur,  —  this  is  more  easily  applied, 
shaken  over  the  tops  of  the  bushes,  but  all  the 


AN   ISLAND  GARDEN  7 

leaves  must  be  reached,  none  neglected  at  your 
peril!  Still  another  box  contains  yellow  snuff 
for  the  green  aphis,  but  he  is  almost  impossible 
to  manage,  —  let  once  his  legions  get  a  foothold, 
good-by  to  any  hope  for  you !  Lime,  salt,  paris 
green,  cayenne  pepper,  kerosene  emulsion,  whale- 
oil  soap,  the  list  of  weapons  is  long  indeed,  with 
which  one  must  fight  the  garden's  foes  !  And  it 
must  be  done  with  such  judgment,  persistence, 
patience,  accuracy,  and  watchful  care !  It  seems 
to  me  the  worst  of  all  the  plagues  is  the  slug, 
the  snail  without  a  shell.  He  is  beyond  descrip- 
tion repulsive,  a  mass  of  sooty,  shapeless  slime, 
and  he  devours  everything.  He  seems  to  thrive 
on  all  the  poisons  known ;  salt  and  lime  are  the 
only  things  that  have  power  upon  him,  at  least 
the  only  things  I  have  been  able  to  find  so  far. 
But  salt  and  lime  must  be  used  very  carefully,  or 
they  destroy  the  plant  as  effectually  as  the  slug 
would  do.  Every  night,  while  the  season  is  yet 
young,  and  the  precious  growths  just  beginning 
to  make  their  way  upward,  feeling  their  strength, 
I  go  at  sunset  and  heap  along  the  edge  of  the 
flower  beds  air-slaked  lime,  or  round  certain  most 
valuable  plants  a  ring  of  the  same,  —  the  slug 
cannot  cross  this  while  it  is  fresh,  but  should  it 
be  left  a  day  or  two  it  loses  its  strength,  it  has  no 
more  power  to  burn,  and  the  enemy  may  slide 
over  it  unharmed,  leaving  his  track  of  slime.  On 
many  a  solemn  midnight  have  I  stolen  from  my 
bed  to  visit  my  cherished  treasures  by  the  pale 
glimpses  of  the  moon,  that  I  might  be  quite  sure 
the  protecting  rings  were  still  strong  enough  to 


8  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

save  them,  for  the  slug  eats  by  night,  he  is  invisi- 
ble by  day  unless  it  rains  or  the  sky  be  overcast. 
He  hides  under  every  damp  board  or  in  any  nook 
of  shade,  because  the  sun  is  death  to  him.  I  use 
salt  for  his  destruction  in  the  same  way  as  the 
lime,  but  it  is  so  dangerous  for  the  plants,  I  am 
always  afraid  of  it.  Neither  of  these  things  must 
be  left  about  them  when  they  are  watered  lest  the 
lime  or  salt  sink  into  the  earth  in  such  quantities 
as  to  injure  the  tender  roots.  I  have  little  cages 
of  fine  wire  netting  which  I  adjust  over  some 
plants,  carefully  heaping  the  earth  about  them  to 
leave  no  loophole  through  which  the  enemy  may 
crawl,  and  round  some  of  the  beds,  which  are 
inclosed  in  strips  of  wood,  boxed,  to  hold  the 
earth  in  place,  long  shallow  troughs  of  wood  are 
nailed  and  filled  with  salt  to  keep  off  the  pests. 
Nothing  that  human  ingenuity  can  suggest  do  I 
leave  untried  to  save  my  beloved  flowers !  Every 
evening  at  sunset  I  pile  lime  and  salt  about  my 
pets,  and  every  morning  remove  it  before  I 
sprinkle  them  at  sunrise.  The  salt  dissolves  of 
itself  in  the  humid  sea  air  and  in  the  dew,  so 
around  those  for  whose  safety  I  am  most  solici- 
tous I  lay  rings  of  pasteboard  on  which  to  heap 
it,  to  be  certain  of  doing  the  plants  no  harm. 
Judge,  reader,  whether  all  this  requires  strength, 
patience,  perseverance,  hope!  It  is  hard  work 
beyond  a  doubt,  but  I  do  not  grudge  it,  for  great 
is  my  reward.  Before  I  knew  what  to  do  to 
save  my  garden  from  the  slugs,  I  have  stood  at 
evening  rejoicing  over  rows  of  fresh  emerald 
leaves  just  springing  in  rich  lines  along  the  beds, 


AN  ISLAND   GARDEN  9 

and  woke  in  the  morning  to  find  the  whole  space 
stripped  of  any  sign  of  green,  as  blank  as  a  board 
over  which  a  carpenter's  plane  has  passed. 

In  the  thickest  of  my  fight  with  the  slugs  some 
one  said  to  me,  "  Everything  living  has  its  enemy; 
the  enemy  of  the  slug  is  the  toad.  Why  don't 
you  import  toads  ?  " 

I  snatched  at  the  hope  held  out  to  me,  and  im- 
mediately wrote  to  a  friend  on  the  continent,  "  In 
the  name  of  the  Prophet,  Toads!"  At  once  a 
force  of  only  too  willing  boys  was  set  about  the 
work  of  catching  every  toad  within  reach,  and 
one  day  in  June  a  boat  brought  a  box  to  me  from 
the  far-off  express  office.  A  piece  of  wire  net- 
ting was  nailed  across  the  top,  and  upon  the 
earth  with  which  it  was  half  filled,  reposing 
among  some  dry  and  dusty  green  leaves,  sat  three 
dry  and  dusty  toads,  wearily  gazing  at  nothing. 
Is  this  all,  I  thought,  only  three  !  Hardly  worth 
sending  so  far.  Poor  creatures,  they  looked  so 
arid  and  wilted,  I  took  up  the  hose  and  turned 
upon  them  a  gentle  shower  of  fresh  cool  water, 
flooding  the  box.  I  was  not  prepared  for  the 
result!  The  dry,  baked  earth  heaved  tumul- 
tuously ;  up  came  dusky  heads  and  shoulders  and 
bright  eyes  by  the  dozen.  A  sudden  concert  of 
liquid  sweet  notes  was  poured  out  on  the  air  from 
the  whole  rejoicing  company.  It  was  really  beau- 
tiful to  hear  that  musical  ripple  of  delight.  I 
surveyed  them  with  eager  interest  as  they  sat 
singing  and  blinking  together.  "You  are  not 
handsome,"  I  said,  as  I  took  a  hammer  and 
wrenched  off  the  wire  cover  that  shut  them  in, 


10  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

"  but  you  will  be  lovely  in  my  sight  if  you  will 
help  me  to  destroy  mine  enemy ; "  and  with  that  I 
turned  the  box  on  its  side  and  out  they  skipped 
into  a  perfect  paradise  of  food  and  shade.  All 
summer  I  came  upon  them  in  different  parts  of 
the  garden,  waxing  fatter  and  fatter  till  they  were 
as  round  as  apples.  In  the  autumn  baby  toads 
no  larger  than  my  thumb  nail  were  found  hop- 
ping merrily  over  the  whole  island.  There  were 
sixty  in  that  first  importation ;  next  summer  I 
received  ninety  more.  But  alas  !  small  dogs  dis- 
cover them  in  the  grass  and  delight  to  tear  and 
worry  them  to  death,  and  the  rats  prey  upon  them 
so  that  many  perish  in  that  way ;  yet  I  hope  to  keep 
enough  to  preserve  my  garden  in  spite  of  fate. 

In  France  the  sale  of  toads  for  the  protection 
of  gardens  is  universal,  and  I  find  under  the  head 
of  "  A  Garden  Friend,"  in  a  current  newspaper, 
the  following  item :  — 

"  One  is  amused,  in  walking  through  the  great 
Covent  Garden  Market,  London,  to  find  toads 
among  the  commodities  offered  for  sale.  In  such 
favor  do  these  familiar  reptiles  stand  with  English 
market  gardeners  that  they  readily  command  a 
shilling  apiece.  .  .  .  The  toad  has  indeed  no 
superior  as  a  destroyer  of  noxious  insects,  and  as 
he  possesses  no  bad  habits  and  is  entirely  inof- 
fensive himself,  every  owner  of  a  garden  should 
treat  him  with  the  utmost  hospitality.  It  is  quite 
worth  the  while  not  only  to  offer  any  simple  in- 
ducements which  suggest  themselves  for  render- 
ing the  premises  attractive  to  him,  but  should  he 
show  a  tendency  to  wander  away  from  them,  to 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  II 

go  so  far  as  to  exercise  a  gentle  force  in  bringing 
him  back  to  the  regions  where  his  services  may 
be  of  the  greatest  utility." 

One  of  the  most  universal  pests  is  the  cut- 
worm, a  fat,  naked  worm  of  varying  lengths.  I 
have  seen  them  two  inches  and  a  half  long  and  as 
large  round  as  my  little  finger.  This  unpleasant 
creature  lives  in  the  ground  about  the  roots  of 
plants.  I  have  known  one  to  go  through  a  whole 
row  of  Sweet  Peas  and  cut  them  off  smoothly 
above  the  roots  just  as  a  sickle  would  do ;  there 
lay  the  dead  stalks  in  melancholy  line.  It  makes 
no  difference  what  the  plant  may  be,  they  will 
level  all  without  distinction.  The  only  remedy 
for  this  plague  is  to  scratch  all  about  in  the  earth 
round  the  roots  of  the  plants  where  their  ravages 
begin,  dig  the  worms  out,  and  kill  them.  I  have 
found  sometimes  whole  nests  of  them  with  twenty 
young  ones  at  once.  Lime  dug  into  the  soil  is 
recommended  to  destroy  them,  but  there  is  no 
remedy  so  sure  as  seeking  a  personal  interview 
and  slaying  them  on  the  spot.  They  are  not  by 
any  means  always  to  be  discovered,  but  the  gar- 
dener must  again  exercise  that  endless  patience 
upon  which  the  success  of  the  garden  depends, 
and  be  never  weary  of  seeking  them  till  they  are 
found. 

Another  enemy  to  my  flowers,  and  a  truly  for- 
midable one,  is  my  little  friend  the  song-sparrow. 
Literally  he  gives  the  plot  of  ground  no  peace  if 
I  venture  to  put  seeds  into  it.  He  obliges  me  to 
start  almost  all  my  seeds  in  boxes,  to  be  trans- 
planted into  the  beds  when  the  plants  are  suf- 


12  AN   ISLAND  GARDEN 

ficiently  tough  to  have  lost  their  delicacy  for  his 
palate  and  are  no  longer  adapted  to  his  ideal  of 
a  salad.  All  the  Sweet  Peas,  many  hundreds  of 
the  delicate  plants,  are  every  one  grown  in  this 
way.  When  they  are  a  foot  high  with  roots  a 
foot  long  they  are  all  transplanted  separately. 
Even  then  the  little  robber  attacks  them,  and, 
though  he  cannot  uproot,  he  will  "yank"  and 
twist  the  stems  till  he  has  murdered  them  in  the 
vain  hope  of  pulling  up  the  remnant  of  a  pea 
which  he  judges  to  be  somewhere  beneath  the 
surface.  Then  must  sticks  and  supports  be 
draped  with  yards  of  old  fishing  nets  to  protect 
the  unfortunates,  and  over  the  Mignonette,  and 
even  the  Poppy  beds  and  others,  I  must  lay  a 
cover  of  closely  woven  wire  to  keep  out  the 
marauder.  But  I  love  him  still,  though  sadly  he 
torments  me.  I  have  adored  his  fresh  music  ever 
since  I  was  a  child,  and  I  only  laugh  as  he  sits 
on  the  fence  watching  me  with  his  bright  black 
eyes;  there  is  something  quaintly  comical  and 
delightful  about  him,  and  he  sings  like  a  friendly 
angel.  From  him  I  can  protect  myself,  but  I 
cannot  save  my  garden  so  easily  from  the  hideous 
slug,  for  which  I  have  no  sentiment  save  only  a 
fury  of  extermination. 

If  possible,  it  is  much  the  best  way  to  begin  in 
the  autumn  to  work  for  the  garden  of  the  next 
spring,  and  the  first  necessity  is  the  preparation 
of  the  soil.  If  the  gardener  is  as  fortunate  as  I 
am  at  the  Isles  of  Shoals,  there  will  be  no  trouble 
in  doing  this,  for  there  the  barn  manure  is  heaped 
in  certain  waste  places,  out  of  the  way,  and  left 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  13 

till  every  change  of  wind  and  weather,  of  temper- 
ature and  climate,  have  so  wrought  upon  it  that 
it  becomes  a  fine,  odorless,  velvet-brown  earth, 
rich  in  all  needful  sustenance  for  almost  all 
plants,  —  "  well-rotted  manure,"  the  "  Old  Farm- 
er's Almanac  "  calls  it.  But  if  there  is  no  mine 
of  wealth  such  as  this  from  which  to  draw,  there 
are  many  fertilizers,  sold  by  all  seed  and  plant 
merchants,  which  will  answer  the  purpose  very 
well.  I  have,  however,  never  found  anything  to 
equal  barn  manure  as  food  for  flowers,  and  if  not 
possible  to  obtain  this  in  a  state  fit  for  immediate 
use,  it  is  best  -to  have  several  cart-loads  taken 
from  the  barn  in  autumn  and  piled  in  a  heap  near 
the  garden  plot,  there  to  remain  all  winter,  till 
rains  and  snows  and  cold  and  heat,  all  the  powers 
of  the  elements,  have  worked  their  will  upon  it, 
and  rendered  it  fit  for  use  in  the  coming  spring. 
Many  people  make  a  compost  heap,  —  it  is  an 
excellent  thing  to  do,  —  piling  turf  and  dead 
leaves  and  refuse  together,  and  leaving  it  to  slow 
decay  till  it  becomes  a  fine,  rich,  mellow  earth. 
In  my  case  the  barn  manure  has  been  more  easily 
obtained,  and  so  I  have  used  it  always  and  with 
complete  success,  but  I  have  a  compost  heap  also, 
to  use  for  plants  which  do  not  like  barn  manure. 
As  late  as  possible,  before  the  ground  freezes, 
I  dig  up  the  single  Dahlia  tubers  (there  are  no 
double  ones  in  my  garden),  and  put  them  in 
boxes  filled  with  clean,  dry  sand,  to  keep  in  a 
frost-free  cellar  till  spring.  I  find  Gladiolus  bulbs, 
Tulips,  Lilies,  and  so  forth,  will  keep  perfectly  well 
in  the  ground  through  the  winter  at  the  Shoals. 


14  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

Over  the  Foxgloves,  Iceland  Poppies,  Wallflowerst 
Mullein  Pinks,  Picotees,  and  other  perennials,  I 
scatter  the  fine  barn  manure  lightly,  over  the 
Hollyhocks  more  heavily,  and  about  the  Rose- 
bushes I  heap  it  up  high,  quite  two  thirds  of  their 
whole  height,  —  you  cannot  give  them  too  much, 
only  be  careful  that  enough  of  their  length,  that 
is  to  say,  one  third  of  the  highest  sprays,  are  left 
out  in  the  air,  that  they  may  breathe.  In  the 
spring  this  manure  must  all  be  carefully  dug  into 
the  ground  round  their  roots.  About  Honey- 
suckles, Clematis,  Grapevine,  and  so  forth,  I  pile  it 
plentifully,  mixed  with  wood  ashes,  which  is  espe- 
cially good  for  Grapevine  and  Rosebushes.  But 
the  white  Lilies,  and  indeed  Lilies  generally,  do 
not  like  to  come  in  contact  with  the  barn  manure, 
so  they  are  protected  by  leaves  and  boughs,  and 
the  earth  near  them  enriched  in  the  spring,  care- 
fully avoiding  the  contact  which  they  dislike. 
When  putting  the  garden  in  order  in  the  autumn, 
all  the  dry  Sweet  Pea  vines,  and  dead  stalks  of  all 
kinds,  which  are  pulled  up  to  clear  the  ground,  I 
heap  for  shelter  over  the  perennials,  being  careful 
to  lay  small  bayberry  branches  over  first,  so  that 
I  may  in  no  way  interfere  with  a  free  circulation 
of  air  about  them.  In  open  spaces  where  no 
perennials  are  growing  I  scatter  the  manure 
thickly,  that  the  ground  may  be  slowly  and  surely 
enriched  all  through  the  winter  and  be  ready  to 
furnish  bountiful  nourishment  for  every  green 
rowing  thing  through  the  summer.  When  the 
ittle  plot  is  spaded  in  April,  all  this  is  dug  in  and 
mixed  thoroughly  with  the  soil. 


AN   ISLAND  GARDEN  15 

When  the  snow  is  still  blowing  against  the 
window-pane  in  January  and  February,  and  the 
wild  winds  are  howling  without,  what  pleasure  it 
is  to  plan  for  summer  that  is  to  be !  Small  shal- 
low wooden  boxes  are  ready,  filled  with  mellow 
earth  (of  which  I  am  always  careful  to  lay  in  a 
supply  before  the  ground  freezes  in  the  autumn), 
sifted  and  made  damp ;  into  it  the  precious  seeds 
are  dropped  with  a  loving  hand.  The  Pansy 
seeds  lie  like  grains  of  gold  on  the  dark  soil.  I 
think  as  I  look  at  them  of  the  splendors  of  impe- 
rial purples  folded  within  them,  of  their  gold  and 
blue  and  bronze,  of  all  the  myriad  combinations 
of  superb  color  in  their  rich  velvets.  Each  one  of 
these  small  golden  grains  means  such  a  wealth 
of  beauty  and  delight !  Then  the  thin  flake-like 
brown  seeds  of  the  annual  Stocks  or  Gillyflowers ; 
one  little  square  of  paper  holds  the  white  Princess 
Alice  variety,  so  many  thick  double  spikes  of 
fragrant  snow  lie  hidden  in  each  thin  dry  flake ! 
Another  paper  holds  the  pale  rose-color,  another 
the  delicate  lilacs,  or  deep  purples,  or  shrimp 
pinks,  or  vivid  crimsons,  —  all  are  dropped  on  the 
earth,  lightly  covered,  gently  pressed  down ;  then 
sprinkled  and  set  in  a  warm  place,  they  are  left  to 
germinate.  Next  I  come  to  the  single  Dahlia 
seeds,  rough,  dry,  misshapen  husks,  that,  being 
planted  thus  early,  will  blossom  by  the  last  of 
June,  unfolding  their  large  rich  stars  in  great 
abundance  till  frost.  They  blossom  in  every 
variety  of  color  except  blue;  all  shades  of  red 
from  faint  rose  to  black  maroon,  and  all  are  gold- 
centred.  They  are  every  shade  of  yellow  from 


1 6  AN   ISLAND  GARDEN 

sulphur  to  flame,  —  king's  flowers,  I  call  them, 
stately  and  splendid. 

All  these  and  many  more  are  planted.  For 
those  that  do  not  bear  transplanting  I  prepare 
other  quarters,  half  filling  shallow  boxes  with 
sand,  into  which  I  set  rows  of  egg-shells  close 
together,  each  shell  cut  off  at  one  end,  with  a 
hole  for  drainage  at  the  bottom.  These  are  filled 
with  earth,  and  in  them  the  seeds  of  the  lovely 
yellow,  white,  and  orange  Iceland  Poppies  are 
sowed.  By  and  by,  when  comes  the  happy  time 
for  setting  them  out  in  the  garden  beds,  the  shell 
can  be  broken  away  from  the  oval  ball  of  earth  that 
holds  their  roots  without  disturbing  them,  and 
they  are  transplanted  almost  without  knowing  it. 
It  is  curious  how  differently  certain  plants  feel 
about  this  matter  of  transplanting.  The  more 
you  move  a  Pansy  about  the  better  it  seems  to 
like  it,  and  many  annuals  grow  all  the  better  for 
one  transplanting;  but  to  a  Poppy  it  means  death, 
unless  it  is  done  in  some  such  careful  way  as  I 
have  described. 

The  boxes  of  seeds  are  put  in  a  warm,  dark 
place,  for  they  only  require  heat  and  moisture  till 
they  germinate.  Then  when  the  first  precious 
green  leaves  begin  to  appear,  what  a  pleasure  it 
is  to  wait  and  tend  on  the  young  growths,  which 
are  moved  carefully  to  some  cool,  sunny  chamber 
window  in  a  room  where  no  fire  is  kept,  for  heat 
becomes  the  worst  enemy  at  this  stage,  and  they 
spindle  and  dwindle  if  not  protected  from  it. 
When  they  are  large  enough,  having  attained  to 
their  second  leaves,  each  must  be  put  into  a  little 


AN   ISLAND  GARDEN  1 7 

pot  or  egg-shell  by  itself  (all  except  the  Poppies 
and  their  companions,  already  in  egg-shells),  so  that 
by  the  time  the  weather  is  warm  enough  they 
will  be  ready  to  be  set  out,  stout  and  strong,  for 
early  blooming. 

This  pleasant  business  goes,  on  during  the  win- 
ter in  the  picturesque  old  town  of  Portsmouth, 
New  Hampshire,  whither  I  repair  in  the  autumn 
from  the  Isles  of  Shoals,  remaining  through  the 
cold  weather  and  returning  to  the  islands  on  the 
first  of  April.  My  upper  windows  all  winter  are 
filled  with  young  Wallflowers,  Stocks,  single 
Dahlias,  Hollyhocks,  Poppies,  and  many  other 
garden  plants,  which  are  watched  and  tended  with 
the  most  faithful  care  till  the  time  comes  for 
transporting  them  over  the  seas  to  Appledore. 
A  small  steam  tug,  the  Pinafore,  carries  me  and 
my  household  belongings  over  to  the  islands,  and 
a  pretty  sight  is  the  little  vessel  when  she  starts 
out  from  the  old  brown  wharves  and  steams  away 
down  the  beautiful  Piscataqua  River,  with  her  hur- 
ricane deck  awave  with  green  leaves  and  flowers, 
for  all  the  world  like  a  May  Day  procession.  My 
blossoming  house  plants  go  also,  and  there  are 
Palms  and  Ferns  and  many  other  lovely  things 
that  make  the  small  boat  gay  indeed.  All  the 
boxes  of  sprouted  seedlings  are  carefully  packed 
in  wide  square  baskets  to  keep  them  steady,  and 
the  stout  young  plants  hold  up  their  strong  stems 
and  healthy  green  leaves,  and  take  the  wind  and 
sun  bravely  as  the  vessel  goes  tossing  over  the 
salt  waves  out  to  sea. 

By  the  first  of  April  it  is  time  to  plant  Sweet 


1 8  AN   ISLAND  GARDEN 

Peas.  From  this  time  till  the  second  week  in 
May,  when  one  may  venture  to  transplant  into 
the  garden,  the  boxes  containing  the  myriads  of 
seedlings  must  be  carefully  watched  and  tended, 
put  out  of  doors  on  piazza  roofs  and  balcony 
'ih rough  the  days  and  taken  in  again  at  night, 
solicitously  protected  from  too  hot  suns  and  too 
rough  winds,  too  heavy  rains  or  too  low  a  tem- 
perature, —  they  require  continual  care.  But  it  is 
joy  to  give  them  all  they  need,  and  pleasure  in- 
deed to  watch  their  vigorous  growth.  Meanwhile 
there  is  much  delightful  work  to  be  done  in  mak- 
ing the  small  garden  plot  ready.  This  little  island 
garden  of  mine  is  so  small  that  the  amount  of 
pure  delight  it  gives  in  the  course  of  a  summer 
is  something  hardly  to  be  credited.  It  lies  along 
the  edge  of  a  piazza  forty  or  fifty  feet  long,  slop- 
ing to  the  south,  not  more  than  fifteen  feet  wide, 
sheltered  from  the  north  winds  and  open  to  the 
sun.  The  whole  piazza  is  thickly  draped  with 
vines,  Hops,  Honeysuckles,  blue  and  white  Clem- 
atis, Cinnamon  Vine,  Mina  Lobata,  Wistaria, 
Nasturtiums,  Morning-glories,  Japanese  Hops, 
Woodbine,  and  the  beautiful  and  picturesque 
Wild  Cucumber  (Echinocystus  Lobata),  which  in 
July  nearly  smothers  everything  else  and  clothes 
itself  in  a  veil  of  filmy  white  flowers  in  loose  clus- 
ters, fragrant,  but  never  too  sweet,  always  refresh- 
ing and  exquisite.  The  vines  make  a  grateful 
green  shade,  doubly  delightful  for  that  there  are 
no  trees  on  my  island,  and  the  shade  is  most  wel- 
come in  the  wide  brilliancy  of  sea  and  sky. 

In  the  first  week  of  April  the  ground  is  spaded 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  19 

for  me ;  after  that  no  hands  touch  it  save  my  own 
throughout  the  whole  season.  Day  after  day  it 
is  so  pleasant  working  in  the  bright  cool  spring 
air,  for  as  yet  the  New  England  spring  is  alert 
and  brisk  in  temperature  and  shows  very  little 
softening  in  its  moods.  But  by  the  seventh  day 
of  the  month,  as  I  stand  pruning  the  Rosebushes, 
there  is  a  flutter  of  glad  wings,  and  lo !  the  first 
house  martins !  Beautiful  creatures,  with  their 
white  breasts  and  steel-blue  wings,  wheeling, 
chattering,  and  scolding  at  me,  for  they  think  I 
stand  too  near  their  little  brown  house  on  the 
corner  of  the  piazza  eaves,  and  they  let  me  know 
their  opinion  by  coming  as  near  as  they  dare  and 
snapping  their  beaks  at  me  with  a  low  guttural 
sound  of  displeasure.  But  after  a  few  days,  when 
they  have  found  they  cannot  scare  me  and  that  I 
do  not  interfere  with  them,  they  conclude  that  I 
am  a  harmless  kind  of  creature  and  endure  me 
with  tranquillity.  Straightway  they  take  posses- 
sion of  their  summer  quarters  and  begin  to  build 
their  cosy  nest  within.  Oh,  then  the  weeks  of 
joyful  work,  the  love-making,  the  cooing,  chatter- 
ing, calling,  in  tones  of  the  purest  delight  and 
content,  the  tilting  against  the  wind  on  burnished 
wings,  the  wheeling,  fluttering,  coquetting,  and 
caressing,  the  while  they  bring  feathers  and  straw 
and  shreds  and  down  for  their  nest-weaving,  — 
all  this  goes  on  till  after  the  eggs  are  laid,  when 
they  settle  down  into  comparative  quiet.  Then 
often  the  father  bird  sits  and  meditates  happily 
in  the  sun  upon  his  tiny  brown  chimney- top, 
while  the  mother  bird  broods  below.  Or  they 


20  AN  ISLAND   GARDEN 

go  out  and  take  a  dip  in  the  air  together,  or  sit 
conversing  in  pretty  cadences  a  little  space,  till 
mother  bird  must  hie  indoors  to  the  eggs  she 
dare  not  leave  longer  lest  they  grow  chill.  And 
this  sweet  little  drama  is  repeated  all  about  the 
island,  on  sunny  roofs  and  corners  and  tall  posts, 
wherever  a  bird  house  has  been  built  for  their 
convenience.  All  through  April  and  May  I 
watch  them  as  I  go  to  and  fro  about  my  business, 
while  they  attend  to  theirs ;  we  do  not  interfere 
with  each  other;  they  have  made  up  their  minds 
to  endure  me,  but  I  adore  them !  Flattered  in- 
deed am  I  if,  while  I  am  at  work  upon  the  flower 
beds  below,  father  martin  comes  and  sits  close  to 
me  on  the  fence  rail  and  chatters  musically,  un- 
mindful of  my  quiet  movements,  quite  fearless 
and  at  home. 

While  I  am  busy  with  pleasant  preparation 
and  larger  hope,  I  rejoice  in  the  beauty  of  the 
pure  white  Snowdrops  I  found  blossoming  in  their 
sunny  corner  when  I  arrived  on  the  first  of  April, 
fragile  winged  things  with  their  delicate  sea-green 
markings  and  fresh,  grass-like  leaves.  Ever  since 
the  first  of  March  have  they  been  blossoming, 
and  the  Crocus  flowers  begin,  as  if  blown  out  of 
the  earth,  like  long,  lovely  bubbles  of  gold  and 
purple,  or  white,  pure  or  streaked  with  lilac,  to 
break,  under  the  noon  sun,  into  beautiful  petals, 
showing  the  orange  anthers  like  flame  within. 
And  the  little  Scilla  Siberica  hangs  its  enchant- 
ing bells  out  to  the  breeze,  blue,  oh,  blue  as  the 
deep  sea  water  at  its  bluest  under  cloudless  skies. 
And  later,  yellow  Daffodils  and  Jonquils,  "  Tulips 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  21 

dashed  with  fiery  dew,"  the  exquisite,  mystic 
poet's  Narcissus,  and  one  crimson  Peony,  —  my 
little  garden  has  not  room  for  more  than  one  of 
these  large  plants,  so  early  blossoming  and  at 
their  end  so  soon. 

In  the  first  week  of  May  every  year  punctually 
arrive  the  barn  swallows  and  the  sandpipers  at 
the  Isles  of  Shoals.  This  seems  a  very  common- 
place statement  of  a  very  simple  fact,  but  would 
it  were  possible  to  convey  in  words  the  sense  of 
delight  with  which  they  are  welcomed  on  this 
sea-surrounded  rock ! 

Some  morning  in  the  first  of  May  I  sit  in  the 
sunshine  and  soft  air,  transplanting  my  young 
Pansies  and  Gillyflowers  into  the  garden  beds, — 
father  and  mother  martin  on  the  fence  watching 
me  and  talking  to  each  other  in  a  charming  lan- 
guage, the  import  of  which  is  clear  enough, 
though  my  senses  are  not  sufficiently  delicate  to 
comprehend  the  words.  The  song-sparrows  pour 
out  their  simple,  friendly  lays  from  bush  and  wall 
and  fence  and  gable  peak  all  about  me.  Down 
in  a  hollow  I  hear  the  brimming  note  of  the  white- 
throated  sparrow,  —  brimming  is  the  only  word 
that  expresses  it, — like  "  a  beaker  full  of  the  warm 
South,"  —  such  joy,  such  overflowing  measure  of 
bliss!  There  is  a  challenge  from  a  robin,  per- 
haps, or  a  bobolink  sends  down  his  "brook  o' 
laughter  through  the  air,"  or  high  and  far  a  curlew 
calls ;  there  is  a  gentle  lapping  of  waves  from  the 
full  tide,  for  the  sea  is  only  a  stone's  -  throw  from 
my  garden  fence.  I  hear  the  voices  of  the  chil- 
dren prattling  not  far  away ;  there  are  no  other 


22  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

sounds.  Suddenly  from  the  shore  comes  a  clear 
cry  thrice  repeated,  "  Sweet,  sweet,  sweet ! "  And 
I  call  to  my  neighbor,  my  brother,  working  also  in 
his  garden  plot,  "  The  sandpiper !  Do  you  hear 
him  ? "  and  the  glad  news  goes  from  mouth  to 
mouth,  "  The  sandpiper  has  come ! "  Oh,  the 
lovely  note  again  and  again  repeated,  "  Sweet, 
sweet,  sweet ! "  echoing  softly  in  the  stillness  of  the 
tide-brimmed  coves,  where  the  quiet  water  seems 
to  hush  itself  to  listen.  Never  so  tender  a  cry 
is  uttered  by  any  bird  I  know ;  it  is  the  most 
exquisitely  beautiful,  caressing  tone,  heard  in  the 
dewy  silence  of  morning  and  evening.  He  has 
many  and  varied  notes  and  calls,  some  collo- 
quial, some  business-like,  some  meditative,  and 
his  cry  of  fear  breaks  my  heart  to  hear  when 
any  evil  threatens  his  beloved  nest ;  but  this  ten- 
der call,  "  Sweet,  sweet,"  is  the  most  enchanting 
sound,  happy  with  a  fullness  of  joy  that  never 
fails  to  bring  a  thrill  to  the  heart  that  listens.  It 
is  like  the  voice  of  Love  itself. 

Then  out  of  the  high  heaven  above,  at  once 
one  hears  the  happy  chorus  of  the  barn  swallows ; 
they  come  rejoicing,  their  swift  wings  cleave  the 
blue,  they  fill  the  air  with  woven  melody  of  grace 
and  music.  Till  late  August  they  remain.  Like 
the  martins',  their  note  is  pure  joy ;  there  is  no 
coloring  of  sadness  in  any  sound  they  make. 
The  sandpiper's  note  is  pensive  with  all  its  sweet- 
ness; there  is  a  quality  of  thoughtfulness,  as  it 
were,  in  the  voice  of  the  song-sparrow ;  the  robin 
has  many  sad  cadences ;  in  the  fairy  bugling  of 
the  oriole  there  is  a  triumphant  richness,  but  not 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  23 

such  pure  delight;  the  blackbird's  call  is  keen 
and  sweet,  but  not  so  glad;  and  the  bobolink, 
when  he  shakes  those  brilliant  jewels  of  sound 
from  his  bright  throat,  is  always  the  prince  of 
jokers,  full  of  fun,  but  not  so  happy  as  comical. 
The  swallows'  twittering  seems  an  expression  of 
unalloyed  rapture,  —  I  should  select  it  from  the 
songs  of  all  the  birds  I  know  as  the  voice  of  un- 
shadowed gladness. 


(OD  Almightie  first  planted  a  Garden," 
says  Lord  Bacon.  "  And  indeed  it  is 
the  Purest  of  Humane  Pleasures,  it 
is  the  Greatest  Refreshment  to  the 
Spirits  of  Man."  Never  were  truer 
words  spoken. 

So  deeply  is  the  gardener's  instinct  implanted 
in  my  soul,  I  really  love  the  tools  with  which  I 
work,  —  the  iron  fork,  the  spade,  the  hoe,  the 
rake,  the  trowel,  and  the  watering-pot  are  pleasant 
objects  in  my  eyes.  The  ingenuity  of  modern 
times  has  invented  many  variations  of  these  prim- 
itive instruments  of  toil,  and  many  of  them  are 
most  useful  and  helpful,  as,  for  instance,  a  short, 
five-pronged  hand-fork,  a  delightful  tool  to  use  in 
breaking  up  the  earth  about  the  roots  of  weeds. 
Some  of  the  weeds  are  so  wide-spreading  and 
tenacious,  like  clover  and  mallow,  that  they  seem 
to  have  fastened  themselves  around  the  nether 
millstone,  it  is  so  difficult  to  disengage  their  hold. 
Once  loosened,  however,  by  the  friendly  little 
fork,  they  must  come  up,  whether  they  will  or  no. 
I  like  to  take  the  hoe  in  my  hands  and  break 
24 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  25 

to  pieces  the  clods  of  earth  left  by  the  overturn- 
ing spade,  to  work  into  the  soil  the  dark,  velvet- 
smooth,  scentless  barn  manure  which  is  to  furnish 
the  best  of  food  for  my  flowers ;  it  is  a  pleasure 
to  handle  the  light  rake,  drawing  it  evenly  through 
the  soil  and  combing  out  every  stick  and  stone 
and  straw  and  lump,  till  the  ground  is  as  smooth 
and  fine  as  meal.  This  done  carefully  and  thor- 
oughly, the  beds  laid  out  neatly,  with  their  sur- 
face level  as  a  floor,  and  not  heaped  high  enough 
to  let  the  rains  run  off,  —  then  is  the  ground 
ready  for  the  sowing  of  the  seeds. 

The  very  act  of  planting  a  seed  in  the  earth 
has  in  it  to  me  something  beautiful.  I  always  do 
it  with  a  joy  that  is  largely  mixed  with  awe.  I 
watch  my  garden  beds  after  they  are  sown,  and 
think  how  one  of  God's  exquisite  miracles  is 
going  on  beneath  the  dark  earth  out  of  sight.  I 
never  forget  my  planted  seeds.  Often  I  wake  in 
the  night  and  think  how  the  rains  and  the  dews 
have  reached  to  the  dry  shell  and  softened  it ;  how 
the  spirit  of  life  begins  to  stir  within,  and  the  in- 
dividuality of  the  plant  to  assert  itself ;  how  it  is 
thrusting  two  hands  forth  from  the  imprisoning 
husk,  one,  the  root,  to  grasp  the  earth,  to  hold 
itself  firm  and  absorb  its  food,  the  other  stretch- 
ing above  to  find  the  light,  that  it  may  drink  in 
the  breeze  and  sunshine  and  so  climb  to  its  full 
perfection  of  beauty.  It  is  curious  that  the  leaf 
should  so  love  the  light  and  the  root  so  hate  it. 
In  his  "  Proserpina  "  John  Ruskin  discourses  on 
this  subject  in  his  own  inimitable  way.  All  he 
says  of  this  is  most  interesting  and  suggestive : 


26  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

"The  first  instinct  of  the  stem,  .  .  .  the  instinct 
of  seeking  the  light,  as  of  the  root  to  seek  dark- 
ness—  what  words  can  speak  the  wonder  of  it  ? " 
If  "  the  seed  falls  in  the  ground  with  the  spring- 
ing germ  of  it  downwards,  with  heavenly  cunning 
the  taught  stem  curls  round  and  seeks  the  never 
seen  light."  The  "  taught "  stem !  Who  taught 
it  ?  What  he  says  of  the  leaves  and  stems  is  very 
beautiful;  every  one  should  read  it.  I  really  do 
not  know  which  is  most  wonderful  of  these  de- 
scriptions of  his,  but  nothing  could  be  more  strik- 
ing than  this  definition :  "  A  root  is  a  group  of 
growing  fibres  which  taste  and  suck  what  is  good 
for  the  plant  out  of  the  ground,  and  by  their 
united  strength  hold  it  in  its  place.  .  .  .  The  thick 
limbs  of  roots  do  not  feed,  but  only  the  fine  ends 
of  them,  which  are  something  between  tongues 
and  sponges,  and  while  they  absorb  moisture 
readily,  are  yet  as  particular  about  getting  what 
they  think  nice  to  eat  as  any  dainty  little  boy  or 
girl ;  looking  for  it  everywhere,  and  turning 
angry  and  sulky  if  they  don't  get  it." 

There  could  not  be  a  better  description  than 
this,  and  if  any  seedsman  would  like  to  make  his 
fortune  without  delay,  he  has  only  to  have  printed 
on  every  packet  of  seed  he  offers  for  sale  the 
kind  of  soil,  the  food,  required  by  each  plant. 
For  instance,  why  not  say  of  Mignonette,  It  flour- 
ishes best  in  a  poor  and  sandy  soil ;  so  treated  it 
is  much  more  fragrant  than  in  a  rich  earth,  which 
causes  it  to  run  to  leaves  and  makes  its  flowers 
fewer  and  less  sweet.  Or  of  Poppies,  Plant  them 
in  a  rich  sandy  loam,  all  except  the  Californias 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  27 

(Eschscholtzid),  which  do  best  in  a  poor  soil.  Or 
of  Pansies,  Give  them  the  richest  earth  you  can 
find,  no  end  of  water,  and  partial  shade.  Or,  Don't 
worry  over  drought  for  your  Nasturtiums ;  they 
come  from  Chile  and  will  live  and  thrive  with  less 
water  than  almost  anything  else  that  grows; 
don't  trouble  yourself  to  enrich  the  ground  for 
them;  that  makes  them  profuse  and  coarse  of 
leaves  and  sparing  of  flowers ;  leave  them  to  shift 
for  themselves,  once  having  cleared  them  of 
weeds.  No  flower  bears  neglect  so  well.  Or, 
Give  your  Zinnias  a  heavy  soil;  they  like  clay.  Or, 
Keep  Sweet  Peas  as  wet  as  you  can  and  make  the 
ground  for  them  as  rich  as  possible.  Or,  Keep 
barn  manure  away  from  your  Lilies  for  your  life ! 
they  will  not  brook  contact  with  it,  but  a  rich 
soil  they  also  like,  only  it  must  be  made  so  by 
anything  rather  than  stable  manure,  and  they, 
too,  like  clay ;  they  blossom  best  when  it  is  given 
them.  But  transport  to  your  garden  a  portion  of 
the  very  barnyard  itself  in  which  to  set  Roses, 
Sunflowers  and  Hollyhocks,  Honeysuckles  and 
Dahlias.  Hints  of  this  kind  would  be  to  the  unac- 
customed tiller  of  the  soil  simply  invaluable.  How 
much  they  would  lessen  failures  and  discourage- 
ments !  And  to  learn  these  things  by  one's  self 
takes  half  a  lifetime  of  sad  experience. 

To  return  to  our  planting.  Yes,  the  sowing  of 
a  seed  seems  a  very  simple  matter,  but  I  always 
feel  as  if  it  were  a  sacred  thing  among  the  mys- 
teries of  God.  Standing  by  that  space  of  blank 
and  motionless  ground,  I  think  of  all  it  holds  for 
me  of  beauty  and  delight,  and  I  am  filled  with 


28  AN   ISLAND  GARDEN 

joy  at  the  thought  that  I  may  be  the  magician  to 
whom  power  is  given  to  summon  so  sweet  a  pa- 
geant from  the  silent  and  passive  soil.  I  bring  a 
mat  from  the  house  and  kneel  by  the  smooth  bed 
of  mellow  brown  earth,  lay  a  narrow  strip  of  board 
across  it  a  few  inches  from  one  end,  draw  a  fur- 
row firmly  and  evenly  in  the  ground  along  the 
edge  of  the  board,  repeating  this  until  the  whole 
bed  is  grooved  at  equal  distances  across  its  entire 
length.  Into  these  straight  furrows  the  living 
seeds  are  dropped,  the  earth  replaced  over  them 
(with  a  depth  of  about  twice  their  diameter),  and 
the  board  laid  flat  with  gentle  pressure  over  all 
the  surface  till  it  is  perfectly  smooth  again.  Then 
must  the  whole  be  lightly  and  carefully  watered. 
With  almost  all  the  seeds  sown  in  this  bird- 
blest  and  persecuted  little  garden,  I  am  obliged 
to  lay  newspapers  or  some  protection  over  the 
planted  beds,  and  over  these  again  sheets  of  wire 
netting,  to  keep  off  the  singing  sparrows  till  the 
seeds  are  safely  sprouted.  Last  year,  one  morn- 
ing early  in  May,  I  put  a  border  of  Mignonette 
seeds  round  every  flower  bed.  When  I  came  to 
the  garden  again  in  the  afternoon,  it  was  alive 
with  flirting  wings  and  tails  and  saucy  beaks  and 
bright  eyes,  and  stout  little  legs  and  claws  scratch- 
ing like  mad;  all  white-throats  and  song-spar- 
rows, and  hardly  a  seed  had  these  merry  little 
marauders  left  in  the  ground.  Around  the  edge 
of  each  bed  a  groove  ran,  nicely  hollowed  by  their 
industrious  feet,  and  empty  as  my  hopes.  I  re- 
placed the  seed  from  my  store,  and  this  time  took 
great  pains  to  lay  two  laths  side  by  side  over  the 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  29 

lines  I  had  sowed,  for  safety.  Next  morning  I 
found  the  birds  again  at  it ;  they  had  burrowed 
under,  kicked  over,  scratched  away  the  light 
sticks,  and  again  the  seeds  were  all  devoured. 
Patiently  I  planted  once  more,  and  this  time 
dragged  from  a  pile  of  lumber  heavy  square 
beams  of  different  lengths,  which  I  laid  along  the 
borders.  The  birds  eyed  the  barricades,  strove 
to  burrow  under,  but  were  forced  to  give  it  up, 
and  so  at  last  I  conquered.  In  the  course  of  a 
week  I  turned  over  the  protecting  beams  and 
found  the  little  Mignonette  plants  white  as  potato 
shoots  that  have  sprouted  in  a  cellar,  but  safe,  for 
which  I  was  devoutly  thankful !  A  day  or  two 
of  sun  and  air  made  them  green  and  strong,  and 
all  summer  long  I  valued  every  fragrant  spike  of 
flowers  they  gave  me,  doubly,  because  of  all  the 
trouble  I  had  gone  through  to  save  them.  I 
mention  this  little  episode  merely  to  illustrate  the 
fact  that  the  would-be  gardener  requires  more 
patience  than  most  mortals ! 

The  state  of  the  weather,  the  temperature  of 
the  air,  the  amount  of  rain  which  falls,  make  all 
the  difference  in  the  world  in  the  time  it  takes 
for  the  first  green  leaves  to  appear.  Some  seeds 
take  longer  than  others  to  germinate :  for  in- 
stance, Hollyhocks,  Marigolds,  ten  weeks  Stocks 
or  Gillyflowers,  Rose  of  Heaven,  Zinnias,  and  many 
others  come  up  in  from  three  to  five  days  if  all 
circumstances  are  favorable,  that  is,  if  it  is  warm, 
moist,  and  sunny  enough  ;  Asters,  single  Dahlias, 
Sunflowers,  Cornflowers,  Mignonette,  Coreopsis, 
Morning-glory,  Picotee  Pinks,  Wallflowers,  Sweet 


30  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

Williams,  and  by  far  the  greater  number  of  an- 
nuals appear  in  from  five  to  seven  days ;  Balsams, 
Pansies,  Begonias,  Drummond's  Phlox,  Poppies, 
Verbenas,  Thunbergia,  and  many  others,  in  from 
eight  to  ten  days ;  Columbines,  Flax,  Artemisia, 
Feverfew,  Campanula,  and  so  forth,  in  from  ten  to 
twelve  days  ;  Maurandia,  Forget-me-not,  Petunia, 
Lantana,  Nicotiana  (an  exquisite  flower,  by  the 
way),  in  from  twelve  to  fifteen  days ;  Cobcea, 
Gloxinia,  Primroses,  Geraniums,  and  others,  in 
from  fifteen  to  twenty  days ;  Perennial  Phlox, 
Clematis,  Perennial  Larkspurs  (which  are 
heavenly !),  and  various  others,  take  from  twenty 
to  thirty-five  days  to  germinate;  and  as  for  Lu- 
pines and  Lilies  and  Ampelopsis,  and  the  like, 
they  take  a  whole  year !  But  common  gardeners 
don't  try  to  raise  these  from  seed,  fortunately. 

With  the  first  faint  green  lines  that  are  visible 
along  the  flower  beds  come  the  weeds,  yea,  and 
even  before  them;  a  wild,  vigorous,  straggling 
army,  full  of  health,  of  strength,  and  a  most  mar- 
velous power  of  growth.  These  must  be  dealt 
with  at  once  and  without  mercy ;  they  must  be 
pulled  up  root  and  branch,  without  a  moment's 
delay.  There  is  clover  that  appears  with  a  little 
circular  leaf  and  has  a  root  that  seems  to  reach 
all  round  in  the  under  world ;  it  goes  everywhere 
and  holds  on  to  the  earth  with  a  grip  which  is 
unequaled  by  anything  that  grows.  Not  an  atom 
of  its  roots  must  be  left  in  the  ground,  for  every 
thread  of  it  will  send  up  new  shoots,  and  if  not 
watched  fill  all  the  space  in  a  few  weeks.  Another 
difficult  weed  to  manage  is  the  chickweed,  which 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  31 

is  so  delicate  that  it  breaks  at  the  slightest  touch. 
It  is  a  most  all  -  pervading  weed;  it  fills  every 
space  between  the  flowers,  overruns  them  like  a 
green  mist,  and  will  surely  strangle  them  if  left 
unmolested.  Alphonse  Karr,  who  so  greatly  en- 
joyed his  garden,  and  wrote  of  it  with  so  much 
pleasure,  says  :  "  The  chickweed  is  endowed  with 
a  fecundity  that  no  other  plant  possesses.  .  .  . 
Seven  or  eight  generations  of  chickweed  cover 
the  earth  every  year.  ...  It  occupies  the  fields 
naturally,  and  invades  our  gardens ;  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  destroy  it." 

There  is  a  long  procession  of  weeds  to  be 
fought :  pigweed,  ragweed,  smartweed,  shepherd's 
purse,  mallow,  mustard,  sorrel,  and  many  more, 
which  make  the  first  crop.  The  second  consists 
largely  of  quitch-grass,  the  very  worst  of  all,  and 
purslain  or  pusley,  which  Charles  Dudley  War- 
ner has  immortalized  in  his  charming  book,  "  My 
Summer  in  a  Garden."  The  roots  of  quitch- 
grass  are  as  strong  as  steel  and  run  rapidly  in 
all  directions  underneath  the  surface,  sending 
up  tender  shoots  that  break  too  easily  when  you 
touch  them.  The  root  must  be  found,  grasped 
firmly,  and  followed  its  whole  length  to  utter  ex- 
termination, or  the  grass  will  come  up  like  a  giant, 
and  later  cannot  be  dealt  with  except  by  pulling 
up  also  the  flowers  among  which  it  inextricably 
entangles  itself.  The  flat,  olive-green  leaves  and 
red  fleshy  stems  of  the  pusley,  running  over  the 
ground  in  a  mat,  next  appear ;  this  is  easily  dis- 
posed of,  only  it  continues  to  come  up, — fresh 
plants  in  endless  succession  rise  from  the  soil  all 


32  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

summer,  and  must  be  watched  and  faithfully  de- 
stroyed. 

There  is  one  weed,  or  wild  plant,  dodder  by 
name,  which  has  given  my  island  garden  the 
greatest  possible  trouble.  It  is  often  wrongly 
called  gold-thread,  because  it  looks  like  a  tangled 
mass  of  amber  thread,  but  the  true  gold-thread  is 
quite  different.  The  whole  plant  consists  of  no- 
thing but  these  seemingly  endless  brittle  reddish 
yellow  stalks  with  bunches  of  small,  dull,  whitish 
flowers  without  stems,  borne  at  intervals,  with  no 
leaves  at  all.  It  has  no  root  in  the  earth,  it  is  a 
parasite,  and  not  at  all  particular  as  to  what  it 
fastens  itself  upon ;  anything  that  comes  in  its 
way  will  answer  its  purpose.  It  is  very  pretty  in 
its  place,  growing  among  the  goldenrod  and  blue 
skullcap  at  the  top  of  the  rocky  little  coves  that 
slope  down  to  the  water  about  the  island,  throw- 
ing itself  from  plant  to  plant,  and  making  a  mass 
of  translucent  amber  color.  But  alas !  when  it 
gets  into  a  civilized  garden,  woe,  woe  unto  that 
garden !  A  handful  of  it  in  bloom  was  brought 
to  my  piazza  twenty  years  ago,  and  some  of  it 
was  accidentally  thrown  into  the  flower  beds ;  I 
have  been  fighting  it  ever  since.  I  have  never 
yet  been  able  to  get  rid  of  it !  Next  year  I  found 
my  Nasturtiums,  Cornflowers,  Marigolds,  and  all 
the  rest  tangled  together  in  this  yellow  web,  a 
mass  of  inextricable  confusion.  Year  after  year 
I  waged  war  against  it,  but  even  yet  it  is  not  en- 
tirely exterminated.  I  never  allow  a  plant  of  it 
in  the  garden,  no  seeds  of  it  ripen  there,  and  none 
of  it  grows  near  the  place  outside ;  not  a  single 


AN   ISLAND  GARDEN  33 

atom  of  it  in  my  small  domain  could  possibly  es- 
cape my  eye,  and  yet  its  seeds  come  up  more  or 
less  every  year;  I  am  sure  to  find  one  or  two 
plants  of  it  in  the  garden  somewhere.  They 
emerge  from  the  ground,  each  like  a  fine  yellow 
hair,  till  they  are  an  inch  and  a  half  or  two  inches 
long;  they  reach  with  might  and  main  toward 
the  nearest  legitimate  growing  plant,  and  when 
they  touch  it  cling  to  it  like  a  limpet ;  then  they 
draw  their  other  end  up  out  of  the  ground  and 
set  up  housekeeping  for  the  rest  of  their  lives. 
They  adhere  to  the  unhappy  individual  upon 
which  they  have  fixed  themselves  with  a  grip  that 
grows  more  and  more  horrible ;  they  suck  all  its 
juices,  drink  all  its  health  and  strength  and 
beauty,  and  fling  out  trailers  to  the  next  and  the 
next  and  the  next,  till  the  whole  garden  is  a  mass 
of  ruin  and  despair. 

For  many  springs  after  the  first  year  it  ap- 
peared I  used  to  take  a  glass  tumbler  and  go  all 
over  the  beds  soon  after  they  were  laid  out,  pull- 
ing up  these  tiny  yellow  hairs,  and  in  an  hour  or 
twro  I  have  pulled  up  five  or  six  tumblers  full.  I 
gathered  them  in  glasses  so  that  I  might  be  quite 
sure  of  all  I  plucked,  and  because  they  could  not 
easily  blow  away  out  of  such  a  receptacle.  For 
wherever  they  might  fall,  if  they  touched  a  green 
growing  thing  they  would  in  an  astonishingly 
short  space  of  time  make  themselves  fast  for 
good,  or  rather  for  ill !  Every  year  I  watch  for  it 
with  the  most  eager  vigilance  as  I  weed  carefully 
over  the  whole  surface  of  the  little  pleasance, 
but  sometimes  it  steals  up  after  all  the  weeding 


34  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

is  done,  and,  before  I  know  it,  I  find  it  has  begun 
to  tie  the  flowers  together.  Then  I  pull  up  all 
the  plants  it  has  touched,  lay  them  in  a  basket, 
carry  them  down,  and  cast  the  whole  into  the  sea. 
It  is  the  only  way  to  be  rid  of  it.  I  have  known 
it  wind  its  inexorable  way  tightly  up  the  large 
smooth  stem  of  a  tall  Sunflower,  where  I  had  not 
thought  of  looking  for  it,  till  there  was  not  an 
atom  of  the  skin  of  the  stalk  visible,  only  amber- 
colored  dodder  and  its  white,  dull  flowers  from 
the  great  head  of  the  blossoming  Sunflower  tree 
to  its  root.  Into  the  sea  the  whole  thing  went,  at 
once,  without  a  moment  of  delay ! 

These  are  only  a  few  of  the  weeds  with  which 
one  must  battle,  though  dodder,  I  fancy,  seldom 
troubles  any  one  on  the  planet  as  it  does  me.  It 
takes  an  island  garden  to  produce  so  remarkable 
a  growth !  Most  of  them  soon  become  familiar, 
too  familiar,  indeed,  and  at  last  one  learns  how  to 
manage  them.  The  great  mistake  which  the 
inexperienced  gardener  makes  is  in  leaving  a 
morsel  of  the  root  of  a  weed  in  the  ground.  Only 
by  combing  the  earth  through  and  through  be- 
tween the  rows  of  plants  with  the  small  hand-fork 
(after  all  the  intruders  have  been  removed  as 
carefully  as  possible  with  the  hand),  can  you  be 
sure  that  they  are  gone.  Other  seeds  of  weeds 
will  be  overturned  and  brought  to  the  surface  in 
the  process,  and  these  will  sprout  in  their  turn, 
but  by  this  time  the  flowers  will  have  made  so 
much  headway  that  they  will  crowd  out  the  new 
crop  of  weeds  enough  to  insure  their  own  safety, 
except  in  some  few  instances.  Apple  of  Peru 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  35 

(Stramonium)  is  one  of  the  most  powerful  and 
persistent  among  the  enemies ;  a  poisonous  thing 
with  a  loathsome  odor,  it  must  be  watched  for 
and  routed,  which  fortunately  is  easily  done.  In 
its  perfected  growth  this  is  the  most  uncanny 
plant,  —  a  strong,  low  bush  with  bat-like  leaves 
of  dark  green,  and  long,  pale  lavender,  lily-like 
flowers,  followed  by  a  round  spiked  seed-vessel. 
Says  Hawthorne :  "  What  hidden  virtue  is  in 
these  things  that  it  is  granted  to  sow  themselves 
with  the  wind  and  to  grapple  the  earth  with  this 
immitigable  stubbornness,  and  to  flourish  in  spite 
of  obstacles,  and  never  to  suffer  blight  beneath 
any  sun  or  shade,  but  always  to  mock  their  ene- 
mies with  the  same  wicked  luxuriance?"  Mrs. 
Gatty  (the  mother  of  that  beautiful  woman, 
Juliana  Horatia  Ewing,  who  has  so  discoursed  on 
the  subject  of  flowers  and  many  other  things  as 
to  make  all  time  her  debtor)  answers  the  ques- 
tion, "What  is  a  weed?"  by  this  statement,  "A 
weed  is  a  plant  out  of  place."  A  keen  and  close 
observer  of  nature  says :  "  A  better  definition 
would  be,  *  A  plant  which  has  an  innate  disposi- 
tion to  get  into  the  wrong  place;'"  and  goes  on 
to  say:  "This  is  the  very  essence  of  weed  charac- 
ter—  in  plants  as  in  men.  If  you  glance  through 
your  botanical  books  you  will  see  often  added  to 
certain  names,  'a  troublesome  weed.'  It  is  not 
its  being  venomous  or  ugly,  but  its  being  imper- 
tinent —  thrusting  itself  where  it  has  no  business 
and  hinders  other  people's  business  —  that  makes 
a  weed  of  it.  ...  Who  ever  saw  a  wood  anemone 
or  a  heath  blossom  out  of  place  ?  .  .  .  What  is  it, 


36  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

then,  this  temper  in  some  plants  —  malicious  as 
it  seems,  intrusive,  at  all  events,  or  erring  — 
which  brings  them  out  of  their  places,  thrusts 
them  where  they  thwart  us  and  offend  ?  "  This 
seems  to  me  the  best  definition  of  what  consti- 
tutes a  weed  that  I  have  seen. 

And  their  strength  is  mighty,  and  their  name 
is  legion.  If  there  were  no  other  enemies  which 
the  gardener  must  fight,  this  one  of  weeds  alone 
is  quite  enough  to  tax  all  his  powers  and  patience. 

Then  the  plants  kill  each  other  if  they  are  left 
to  grow  as  thickly  together  as  the  seeds  were 
sown ;  they  must  be  "  thinned  out "  as  soon  as 
they  have  attained  to  their  second  leaf,  leaving 
two,  three,  four,  or  five  inches  between  each  two 
plants  side  by  side.  I  always  leave  two  plants 
where  one  would  be  enough,  because  something 
is  so  likely  to  happen  to  destroy  them,  and  if 
there  are  two  the  hard  fates  may  perhaps  leave 
one.  Some  things  require  much  more  space 
than  others.  Pinks  that  spire  up  so  thin  and  tall 
can  be  set  closer  together  than  Poppies,  which 
spread  widely  in  all  directions.  This  pulling  up 
and  throwing  away  of  the  superfluous  plants  is  a 
very  difficult  thing  for  me  to  do.  I  cannot  bear 
to  destroy  one  of  the  precious  young  seedlings 
that  I  have  watched  and  tended  with  such  love 
and  care,  but  it  must  be  done.  It  is  a  matter  of 
the  very  greatest  importance.  The  welfare  of  the 
garden  depends  on  it.  I  comfort  myself  as  best 
I  may  by  saving  all  that  will  bear  transplanting, 
and  then  giving  them  away  to  the  flower  plots  of 
my  fellow-gardeners  on  neighboring  islands. 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  37 

Soon  the  whole  plot  mantles  over  all  its  sur- 
face with  the  rich,  warm  green  of  vigorous  leaf- 
age. The  new  growth  rejoices.  That  is  the 
right  word  for  it.  The  gladness  of  green  growing 
things  is  apparent  to  any  seeing  eye.  They  re- 
joice with  a  radiant  joy  in  sun  and  rain  and  air 
..and  dew,  in  all  care  and  kindness.  They  know 
and  respond  to  everything  that  is  done  for  them. 
The  low-growing  Drummond's  Phlox  is  one  of 
the  most  satisfactory  flowers  for  a  beginner  in  the 
art  of  gardening.  There  is  no  such  word  as  fail 
in  its  bright  lexicon ;  and  it  blossoms  continually 
from  the  last  of  June  till  frost.  Looking  care- 
fully every  day,  by  the  last  half  of  June  I  find  the 
pale  clustered  flower  buds  showing;  then  it  is 
not  long  to  wait  before  the  whole  bed  is  a  blaze 
of  varied  color,  a  delicate  woven  carpet  of  myriad 
vivid  hues.  In  the  lovely  buds  the  petals  are 
folded  one  over  the  other  in  beautiful  succession. 
The  flowers  are  five-petaled,  with  a  faint,  sweet 
perfume;  they  are  borne  in  flat  clusters  of  an 
exquisite,  velvety  texture,  with  a  clearly  marked 
eye  in  the  centre  encircling  the  few  pearl-white 
stamens;  this  eye  varies  with  the  hue  of  each 
different  flower.  There  will  be  delicious  pinks 
among  these  Phloxes,  from  the  palest  rose  to  the 
deepest  cherry;  all  shades  of  red  from  bright, 
light  scarlet,  clear  and  pure,  to  a  rich  black  red,  — 
the  Black  Warrior.  There  will  be  all  heavenly 
purples,  pale  lilacs,  deep  red  purple  and  blue 
purple,  perfect  snow  white :  the  eye  in  this  last  is 
soft  green,  like  the  touches  on  a  Snowdrop  bell. 
The  scarlet  flowers  have  a  ring  of  black-red  about 


38  AN  ISLAND   GARDEN 

the  centre,  delicately  gorgeous.  There  are  almost 
endless  varieties  and  mixtures  of  color ;  they  are 
full  of  surprises.  The  Star  of  Quedlinburg  is 
such  a  pretty,  quaint  change  rung  upon  this 
pleasant  theme  of  Phloxes.  The  centre  of  the 
outer  line  of  each  petal  is  drawn  out  at  the  edge 
like  the  tails  on  the  under  wings  of  the  Luna 
moth.  These  long  tails  in  which  each  petal  ter- 
minates give  the  flower  the  aspect  of  a  star  with 
rays.  "Ask  of  Nature  why  the  star  form  she 
repeats,"  says  Emerson.  It  is  forever  repeated 
among  the  flowers. 

At  bird-peep,  as  the'  country  folk  have  a  charm- 
ing way  of  calling  the  break  of  day,  I  am  in  my 
dear  garden,  — planting  and  transplanting,  hoeing, 
raking,  weeding,  watering,  tying  up  and  training 
those  plants  that  need  it,  and  always  fighting  for 
their  precious  lives  against  their  legions  of  ene- 
mies. There  is  a  time  of  great  danger  upon  the 
island  from  the  birds  when  they  are  migrating 
northward.  They  come  suddenly  down  from  the 
sky  in  myriads,  on  their  way  to  the  continent, 
and  I  have  known  them  to  strip  the  little  plot  of 
every  green  shoot  in  a  single  day,  utterly  bare. 
Nothing  but  fishing  nets  draped  over  the  whole 
space  will  save  the  garden  when  these  hungry 
hordes  descend.  But  I  do  not  lose  patience  with 
the  birds,  however  sorely  they  try  me.  I  love 
them  too  well.  How  should  they  know  that  the 
garden  was  not  planted  for  them  ?  Those  be- 
longing to  the  thrush  tribe  are  the  most  mis- 
chievous; the  others  do  not  disturb  the  flower 
beds  so  much.  The  friendly  robin,  though  a 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  39 

thrush,  only  comes  for  worms,  to  which  he  is 
more  than  welcome.  Most  of  the  other  birds  — 
bobolinks,  kingbirds,  orioles,  purple  finches,  and 
many  other  beautiful  creatures  less  familiar  — 
stay  with  us  for  a  short  time  only,  on  their  pas- 
sage north  or  south  every  year  ;  but  a  single  pair 
of  kingbirds  build  every  summer  in  the  one  tall 
elm-tree  on  the  island,  where  also  builds  a  cosy 
nuthatch  and  raises  a  numerous  family,  and  one 
pair  of  most  interesting  kingfishers  haunts  the 
upper  cove  till  late  in  the  season.  A  Maryland 
yellow-throat  began  building  here  last  summer. 
For  several  years  one  pair  of  cuckoos  lingered 
through  the  summer,  but  at  last  ceased  to  come. 
A  few  blackbirds  build,  the  white-throats  stay 
late,  but  several  varieties  of  swallows,  the  song- 
sparrows,  and  sandpipers  remain  and  rear  their 
broods.  How  we  wish  the  robins  would  stay  too, 
and  the  orioles  and  all  the  sweet  company !  But 
there  are  no  trees  to  shelter  them.  Their  coming 
and  going,  however,  is  a  matter  of  the  greatest 
interest  to  the  little  family  on  the  island,  and  we 
are  thrown  into  a  state  of  the  deepest  excitement 
by  the  apparition  of  a  scarlet  tanager,  or  a  rose- 
breasted  grosbeak,  or  any  of  those  unfamiliar 
beauties.  Once  a  ferruginous  thrush  came  and 
stayed  a  week  with  us  in  early  June.  Every  day 
when  he  perched  on  a  ridge-pole  or  chimney-top 
and  sang,  the  whole  family  turned  out  in  a  body 
to  listen,  making  a  business  of  it,  attending  to  no- 
thing else  while  that  thrilling  melody  was  poured 
out  on  the  silent  air.  That  was  a  gift  of  the  gods 
which  we  could,  none  of  us,  afford  to  neglect ! 


40  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

Says  the  wise  Lord  Bacon  again :  "  And  be- 
cause the  Breath  of  Flowers  is  far  sweeter  in  the 
Aire  (when  it  comes  and  goes,  like  the  Warbling 
of  Music)  than  in  the  hand,  therefore  nothing  is 
more  fit  for  that  delight  than  to  know  what  be 
the  Flowers  and  Plants  that  doe  best  perfume  the 
Aire." 

The  most  exquisite  perfume  known  to  my  gar- 
den is  that  of  the  Wallflowers ;  there  is  nothing 
equal  to  it.  They  blossom  early,  and  generally 
before  June  has  passed  they  are  gone,  and  have 
left  me  mourning  their  too  swift  departure.  I 
wonder  they  are  not  more  generally  cultivated, 
but  I  fancy  the  fact  that  they  do  not  blossom  till 
the  second  year  has  much  to  do  with  their  rarity. 
It  requires  so  much  more  faith  and  patience  to 
wait  a  whole  year,  and  meanwhile  carefully  watch 
and  tend  the  plants,  excepting  during  the  time 
when  winter  covers  them  with  a  blanket  of  snow ; 
but  when  at  last  spring  comes  and  the  tardy 
flowers  appear,  then  one  is  a  thousand  times  re- 
paid for  all  the  tedious  months  of  waiting.  They 
return  such  wealth  of  bloom  and  fragrance  for 
the  care  and  thought  bestowed  on  them  !  Their 
thick  spikes  of  velvet  blossoms  are  in  all  shades 
of  rich  red,  from  scarlet  to  the  darkest  brown, 
from  light  gold  to  orange ;  some  are  purple ;  and 
their  odor,  —  who  shall  describe  it!  Violets, 
Roses,  Lilies,  Sweet  Peas,  Mignonette,  and  Helio- 
trope, with  a  dash  of  Honeysuckle,  all  mingled 
in  a  heavenly  whole.  There  is  no  perfume  which 
I  know  that  can  equal  it.  And  they  are  so  lavish 
of  their  scent ;  it  is  borne  off  the  garden  and 


AN   ISLAND  GARDEN  41 

wafted  everywhere,  into  the  house  and  here  and 
there  in  all  directions,  in  viewless  clouds  on  the 
gentle  air.  To  make  a  perfect  success  of  Wall- 
flowers they  must  be  given  lime  in  some  form 
about  the  roots.  They  thrive  marvelously  if  fed 
with  a  mixture  of  old  plastering  in  the  soil,  or 
bone  meal,  or,  if  that  is  not  at  hand,  the  meat 
bones  from  the  kitchen,  calcined  in  the  oven  and 
pounded  into  bits,  stirred  in  around  the  roots  is 
fine  for  them.  This  treatment  makes  all  the  dif- 
ference in  the  world  in  their  strength  and  beauty. 
After  the  Wallflowers,  Roses  and  Lilies,  Mignon- 
ette, Pinks,  Gillyflowers,  Sweet  Peas,  and  the 
Honeysuckles  for  fragrance,  and  of  these  last,  the 
monthly  Honeysuckle  is  the  most  divine.  Such 
vigor  of  growth  I  have  never  seen  in  any  other 
plant,  and  it  is  hardy  even  without  the  least  pro- 
tection in  our  northern  climate.  It  climbs  the 
trellis  on  my  piazza  and  spreads  its  superb  clus- 
ters of  flowers  from  time  to  time  all  summer. 
Each  cluster  is  a  triumph  of  beauty,  flat  in  the 
centre  and  curving  out  to  the  blossoming  edge  in 
joyous  lines  of  loveliness,  most  like  a  wreath  of 
heavenly  trumpets  breathing  melodies  of  perfume 
to  the  air.  Each  trumpet  of  lustrous  white 
deepens  to  a  yellower  tint  in  the  centre  where  the 
small  ends  meet ;  each  blossom  where  it  opens  at 
the  lip  is  tipped  with  fresh  pink ;  each  sends  out 
a  group  of  long  stamens  from  its  slender  throat 
like  rays  of  light ;  and  the  whole  circle  of  radiant 
flowers  has  an  effect  of  gladness  and  glory  inde- 
scribable :  the  very  sight  of  it  lifts  and  refreshes 
the  human  heart.  And  for  its  odor,  it  is  like  the 


42  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

spirit  of  romance,  sweet  as  youth's  tender  dreams. 
It  is  summer's  very  soul. 

This  beautiful  vine  will  grow  anywhere,  for  any- 
body,  only  give  it  half  a  chance,  such  is  its  match- 
less vigor.  I  wonder  why  it  is  not  found  in  every 
garden ;  nothing  so  well  repays  the  slightest  care. 

Next  in  power  come  the  Sweet  Peas,  blossoming 
the  livelong  summer  in  all  lovely  tints  save  only 
yellow,  and  even  that  the  kind  called  Primrose 
approaches,  with  its  faint  gold  suffusion  of  both 
inner  and  outer  petals.  I  plant  them  by  myriads 
in  my  tiny  garden  —  all  it  will  hold.  Transplant, 
I  should  say,  because  of  my  friends  the  birds,  who 
never  leave  me  one  if  I  dare  plant  them  out  of 
doors.  But  this  transplanting  is  most  delightful. 
I  thoroughly  enjoy  digging  with  the  hoe  a  long 
trench  six  inches  deep  for  the  strong  young  seed- 
lings, lifting  them  from  the  boxes,  carefully  disen- 
tangling their  long  white  roots  each  from  the  other 
as  I  take  them  out,  and  placing  them  in  a  close 
row  the  whole  length  of  the  deep  furrow,  letting 
the  roots  drop  their  whole  length,  with  no  curling 
or  crowding,  then  half  filling  the  hollow  with 
water,  drawing  the  earth  about  the  roots  and 
firming  the  whole  with  strong  and  gentle  touch. 
They  do  not  droop  a  single  leaf  so  transplanted ; 
they  go  on  growing  as  if  nothing  had  happened, 
if  only  they  are  given  all  the  water  they  need. 
Already  they  stretch  out  their  delicate  tendrils  to 
climb,  and  I  love  to  give  them  for  support  the 
sticks  with  which  the  farmers  supply  their  pea 
vines  for  the  market;  but  on  my  island  are  no 
woods,  so  I  am  thankful  for  humble  bayberry  and 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  43 

elder  branches  for  the  purpose.  It  is  another 
pleasure  to  go  afar  among  the  rocks  for  these  and 
wheel  them  to  the  flower  beds  in  a  light  wheel- 
barrow, which  is  one  of  the  most  useful  things 
one  can  possess  for  work  about  the  garden.  At 
once  the  vines  lay  hold  of  the  slender  sticks  and 
climb  to  the  very  top,  fain  are  they  to  go  much 
farther.  But  I  cut  the  tops  so  that  they  may 
branch  from  the  sides  and  keep  within  bounds, 
and  they  soon  make  a  solid  hedge  of  healthy 
green.  Oh,  when  the  blossoms  break  from  these 
green  hedges  like  heavenly  winged  angels,  and 
their  pure,  cool  perfume  fills  the  air,  what  joy  is 
mine! 

I  find  Sweet  Peas  can  hardly  have  too  rich  a 
soil,  provided  always  that  they  are  kept  sufficiently 
wet.  They  must  have  moisture,  their  roots  must 
be  kept  cool  and  damp,  —  a  mulch  of  leaves  or 
straw  is  a  very  good  thing  to  keep  the  roots  from 
drying,  —  and  they  must  always  be  planted  as  deep 
as  possible.  Wood  ashes  give  them  a  stronger 
growth.  Their  colors,  the  great  variety  of  them, 
and  their  vivid  delicacy  are  wonderful ;  they  are 
most  beautiful  against  the  background  of  the  sea; 
they  are  a  continual  source  of  delight,  and  never 
cease  to  bloom,  with  me,  if  gathered  every  day  and 
watered  abundantly,  the  whole  summer  long,  even 
through  the  autumn  till  November.  But  they 
must  never  be  suffered  to  go  to  seed ;  that  would 
check  their  blossoming  at  once.  I  revel  in  their 
beauty  week  after  week,  bringing  them  into  the 
house  and  arranging  them  in  masses  every  other 
day.  Clear  glass  vases  are  most  effective  for 


44  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

them,  and  they  look  loveliest,  I  think,  when  each 
color  is  kept  by  itself.  For  the  Princess  Beatrice, 
which  is  a  divine  pale  pink,  a  shade  of  rose  re- 
fined  and  exquisite,  there  are  glasses  of  clear  pink 
that  repeat  the  hues  of  the  flowers  with  magical 
gradations  and  reflections.  For  the  white  kinds 
there  are  white  vases,  the  most  effective  of  ground 
glass,  the  opaque  surface  of  which  matches  the 
tone  of  the  flowers. 

Of  the  named  kinds  of  Sweet  Peas  the  most 
beautiful  shades  of  pink  that  I  know  are  the 
divinely  delicate  Princess  Beatrice,  the  palest 
rose-color;  Adonis,  a  deeper  pink,  very  clear 
and  rich;  the  Orange  Prince,  a  most  ineffably 
splendid  color  of  bright  yellow-rose ;  these  together 
make  a  combination  of  color  that  satisfies  the  in- 
most soul.  Carmine  Invincible  is  the  most 
splendid  red ;  the  Butterfly  is  white  edged  with 
mauve,  and  combined  with  the  delicate  rose 
Princess  Beatrice  makes  a  delicious  harmony. 
Blanche  Ferry  is  also  a  lovely  rose.  Queen  Vic- 
toria is  the  best  white  I  have  known ;  but  every 
year  new  varieties  are  found  which  seem  more  and 
more  beautiful,  and  it  is  only  by  trying  them  that 
one  finds  which  to  depend  on. 

Of  the  worth  of  these  I  have  mentioned  I  am 
sure;  they  are  the  strongest  growers,  the  freest 
bloomers,  and  the  most  beautiful  of  their  kind. 
They  never  disappoint  you  if  you  give  them  the 
right  care.  The  list  of  flowers  in  my  island  gar- 
den is  by  no  means  long,  but  I  could  discourse  of 
them  forever !  They  are  mostly  the  old-fashioned 
flowers  our  grandmothers  loved.  Beginning  with 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  45 

Snowdrops,  Crocuses,  Daffodils,  Narcissus,  a  few 
Hyacinths,  Scillas,  an  English  Primrose  or  two, 
Tulips,  and  several  other  early  blooming  plants, 
one  big  red  Peony,  Columbine,  Ragged  Robin, 
Cornflowers,  Roses  and  Lilies,  Larkspurs,  Pinks 
and  Gillyflowers,  Sweet  Williams,  Wallflowers, 
Forget-me-nots,  single  Dahlias,  Sunflowers  of 
every  kind,  and  Hollyhocks  of  all  colors,  Poppies 
in  almost  endless  variety,  Nasturtiums  of  all  hues, 
pot  Marigolds,  summer  Chrysanthemums  in  great 
variety,  Rose  Campion,  or  Rose  of  Heaven,  Pan- 
sies,  Phlox,  Sweet  Peas,  and  Mignonette,  Crimson 
Flax  and  the  tall  blue  Perennial  Flax  (a  wonder- 
ful blue!),  many  kinds  of  Coreopsis,  —  all  most 
valuable  and  decorative,  —  Asters,  Honeysuckle 
and  Clematis,  Morning-glories,  Lavender  and  Fox- 
gloves, Candytuft,  Verbenas,  Thunbergia,  Pent- 
stemon,  the  heaven-blue  Ipomea,  white  Petunias, 
—  because  they  are  so  beautiful  by  moonlight, — 
a  few  Four-o'clocks,  and  so  forth.  These  are 
enough  for  a  most  happy  little  garden.  A  few 
more  modern  plants  are  added,  a  golden  and  a 
rosy  Lily  from  Japan,  a  lustrous  white  gold- 
hearted  Anemone  from  the  same  country,  for  au- 
tumn blooming,  one  or  two  tuberous-rooted  Bego- 
nias, some  Gaillardias  and  Zinnias,  the  fragrant 
little  Asperula  (Woodruff),  and  some  others. 
Among  the  new  plants  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing is  the  Hugelia  Ccerulea,  which  grows  a  foot 
and  a  half  high,  with  a  many-branched  woolly 
leaf,  and  flowers  in  flat  clusters  of  the  most  deli- 
cious light  blue.  This  is  a  flower  with  an  atmos- 
phere ;  it  has  a  quality  of  beauty  quite  indescri- 
bable. 


J  COPY  the  notes  of  a  few  days'  work 
in  the  garden  in  May,  just  to  give  an 
idea  of  their  character  and  of  the  vari- 
ety of  occupation  in  this  small  space 
of  ground. 

May  ii.  This  morning  at  four  o'clock  the 
sky  was  one  rich  red  blush  in  the  east,  over  a  sea 
as  calm  as  a  mirror.  How  could  I  wait  for  the 
sun  to  lift  its  scarlet  rim  above  the  dim  sea-line 
(though  it  rose  punctually  at  forty-seven  minutes 
past  four),  when  my  precious  flower  beds  were 
waiting  for  me !  It  was  not  possible,  and  I  was 
up  and  dressed  before  he  had  flooded  the  earth 
with  glory.  "  Straight  was  a  path  of  gold  for 
him,"  I  said,  as  I  gazed  out  at  the  long  line  of 
liquid  splendor  along  the  ocean.  All  the  boxes 
and  baskets  of  the  more  delicate  seedlings  were 
to  be  put  out  from  my  chamber  window  on  flat 
house-top  and  balcony,  they  and  the  forest  of 
Sweet  Peas  to  be  thoroughly  watered,  and  the 
Pansies  half  shaded  with  paper  lest  the  sun 
should  work  them  woe.  At  five  the  household 
was  stirring,  there  was  time  to  write  a  letter  or 
two,  then  came  breakfast  before  six,  and  by  half 
past  six  I  was  out  of  doors  at  work  in  the  vast 
46 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  47 

circle  of  motionless  silence,  for  the  sea  was  too 
calm  for  me  to  hear  even  its  breathing.  It  was 
so  beautiful,  —  the  dewy  quiet,  the  freshness,  the 
long,  still  shadows,  the  matchless,  delicate,  sweet 
charm  of  the  newly  wakened  world.  Such  a 
color  as  the  grass  had  taken  on  during  the  last 
few  warm  days ;  and  where  the  early  shadows  lay 
long  across  it,  such  indescribable  richness  of 
tone !  There  was  so  much  for  me  to  do,  I  hardly 
knew  where  to  begin.  At  the  east  of  the  house 
the  bed  of  Pansies  set  out  yesterday  was  bright 
with  promise,  every  little  plant  holding  itself 
gladly  erect.  I  began  with  the  trellis  each  side  of 
the  steps  leading  down  into  the  garden,  and  first 
set  out  a  Coboea  Scandens,  one  to  the  right  and 
one  to  the  left,  —  strong,  sturdy  plants  which  I 
had  been  keeping  weeks  in  the  house  till  it  should 
be  warm  enough  to  trust  them  out  of  doors. 
They  were  a  foot  high  and  stretching  their  sensi- 
tive tendrils  in  all  directions,  seeking  something 
for  support.  They  grasped  the  trellis  at  once 
and  seemed  to  spread  out  every  leaf  to  the  warm 
sun,  while  I  poured  cool  water  and  liquid  manure 
about  their  roots,  and  congratulated  them  on  their 
escape  into  the  open  ground.  Near  them,  against 
the  same  trellis,  I  put  down  two  Tropaeolum  Lob- 
bianum  Lucifers,  a  new  scarlet  variety  of  these 
delicate  Nasturtiums,  that  they  might  climb  to- 
gether over  the  broad  arch.  Some  time  ago  I  had 
planted  there  also  some  Mexican  Morning-glories 
sent  me  by  an  unknown  friend,  and  if  they  come 
up,  and  Coboea,  Nasturtiums,  and  Morning-glories 
all  climb  together  and  clasp  hands  with  Honey- 


48  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

suckle,  Wistaria,  and  Wild  Cucumber,  my  porch 
will,  indeed,  be  a  bower  of  beauty !  Then  against 
wall  and  fence  I  set  out  the  stout  bushes  of  single 
Dahlias  which  have  been  growing  ever  since  last 
January.  A  new  variety  called  Star  of  Lyons  in- 
terests me.  I  am  anxious  to  know  what  it  is  like, 
what  its  color,  what  its  shape.  It  is  such  a  pleas- 
ure always  to  be  finding  new  varieties  and  com- 
binations, fresh  surprises  in  unfamiliar  flowers. 
Seeking  the  smallest  posy  bed  I  own,  into  this  I 
transplanted  another  stranger,  Papaver  Alpinum 
Roseum,  a  rose-colored  Iceland  Poppy.  How  I 
shall  watch  it  grow,  and  how  eagerly  wait  for  it 
to  blossom !  Eight  egg-shells  full  of  it  were  set 
down  and  carefully  watered.  Next,  a  row  of 
baby  Wallflowers  were  established  in  a  long  line 
near  the  tall  ones  that  are  thick  with  buds.  I 
am  going  to  try  to  have  a  succession  of  bloom 
from  these,  if  it  can  be  accomplished,  all  summer. 
In  another  bed  I  began  to  set  out  a  few  of  the 
choicest  Sweet  Peas,  the  new  kinds ;  these  were 
already  a  foot  long  from  tip  to  root  ends.  I  have 
no  words  to  tell  what  pleasant  work  this  is! 
After  the  Sweet  Peas  were  comfortably  settled,  I 
covered  the  whole  bed  with  a  length  of  light 
mosquito  net,  pegging  it  at  the  corners,  laying 
sticks  and  stones  along  the  edges  to  hold  it  down, 
so  that  the  saucy  sparrows  should  find  no  loop- 
hole by  which  to  wriggle  inside,  they  having 
watched  the  whole  process  with  interested  eyes 
from  their  perch  on  the  fence-rail.  How  beauti- 
ful it^was  to  be  sitting  there  in  the  sweet  weather, 
working  in  the  wholesome  brown  earth!  Just  be- 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  49 

yond  the  Sweet  Peas  I  could  see  my  strong  white 
Lilies  springing  up,  a  foot  high  already,  with  the 
splendid  hardy  Larkspurs  behind  them,  prom- 
ising a  wealth  of  white  and  gold  and  azure  by 
and  by.  From  time  to  time  through  the  calm 
morning,  as  I  labored  thus  peacefully,  I  heard  the 
loons  laughing  loud  and  clear  in  the  stillness, 
and  by  lifting  my  head  could  see  them  off  the 
end  of  the  wharf  at  the  landing  swimming  to  and 
fro  with  their  bright  reflections,  catching  no  end 
of  fish  and  having  the  most  delightful  time, — 
every  now  and  then  half  raising  themselves  from 
the  water  and  flapping  their  wings,  showing  the 
dazzling  white  with  which  the  strong  pinions 
were  lined,  and  laughing  again  and  again  with  a 
wild  and  eerie  sound.  This  means  that  a  storm 
is  coming,  I  know.  But  I  love  to  hear  them,  and 
how  devoutly  thankful  I  am  that  there  is  not  a 
creature  with  a  gun  on  this  blessed  island !  The 
loons  know  it  well,  or  they  never  would  venture 
in  so  near,  while  they  shout  to  the  morning  their 
wild  cries. 

Near  me,  where  I  had  made  the  earth  so  very 
wet,  suddenly  fluttered  down  a  ruddy-breasted 
barn  swallow,  the  beauty !  for  on  such  heavenly 
terms  are  we  that  he  did  not  mind  me  in  the 
least  as  he  gathered  a  tiny  load  of  mud  for  his 
nest  against  the  rafters  in  the  barn,  and  flew  away 
with  it  low  on  the  wind.  The  barn  swallows  do 
not  visit  my  small  inclosure  as  often  as  do  my 
nearer  neighbors,  the  white-breasted  martins. 

All  this  time  the  lovely  day  was  slowly  chang- 
ing its  early  delicate  colors  and  freshness  for  the 


50  AN  ISLAND   GARDEN 

whiter  light  of  noon.  By  twelve  o'clock  the  wind 
had  "  hauled  "  from  west  to  south,  going  round 
through  the  east,  and  sending  millions  of  light 
ripples  across  the  glassy  water,  deepening  its 
color  to  sparkling  sapphire,  and  at  last  the  sun 
overhead  seemed  to  pelt  quicksilver  in  floods 
upon  it,  and  then  it  was  dinner-time.  After  an 
hour  of  rest  again  I  took  up  my  work.  All 
about,  here  and  there  and  everywhere,  I  dug  up 
the  scattered  Echinocystus  vines  and  set  them 
against  the  house,  so  that  they  could  run  up  the 
trellises  on  all  sides  to  make  grateful  shade  by 
and  by.  A  few  straying  Primroses  waited  to  be 
moved  outside  the  fence,  —  they  take  up  so  much 
room  within,  and  room  is  so  precious  inside  the 
garden.  Young  plants  of  the  charming,  old-fash- 
ioned Sweet  Rocket  had  to  be  collected  from  the 
nooks  where  they  had  sown  themselves  far  and 
near,  and  set  in  clumps  in  corners.  Then  there 
was  a  box  of  white  Forget-me-nots  some  one  had 
sent  me,  to  be  established  in  their  places,  and  I 
finished  the  afternoon  by  planting  Shirley  Pop- 
pies all  up  and  down  the  large  bank  at  the  south- 
west of  the  garden,  outside.  I  am  always  planting 
Shirley  Poppies  somewhere!  One  never  can 
have  enough  of  them,  and  by  putting  them  into 
the  ground  at  intervals  of  a  week,  later  and  later, 
one  can  secure  a  succession  of  bloom  and  keep 
them  for  a  much  longer  time,  —  keep,  indeed,  their 
heavenly  beauty  to  enjoy  the  livelong  summer,  — 
whereas,  if  they  are  all  planted  at  once  you  would 
see  them  for  a  blissful  moment,  a  week  or  ten 
days  at  most,  and  then  they  are  gone.  I  have 


AN   ISLAND  GARDEN  51 

planted  and  am  going  to  continue  planting  till 
the  middle  of  June,  in  this  year  of  grace  1893,  no 
less  than  two  whole  ounces  of  Shirley  Poppies  in 
all,  and  when  one  reflects  that  the  seeds  are  so 
small  as  to  be  hardly  more  than  visible  to  the 
naked  eye,  one  realizes  this  to  be  a  great  many. 

May  1 2th.  Again  a  radiant  day.  I  watched 
the  thin  white  half  ring  of  the  waning  moon  as  it 
stole  up  the  east  through  the  May  haze  at  dawn. 
This  kind  of  haze  belongs  especially  to  this 
month ;  it  is  such  an  exquisite  color,  like  ashes 
of  roses,  till  the  sun  suffuses  it  with  a  burning 
blush  before  he  leaps  alive  from  the  ocean's  rim. 
Again  in  the  garden  at  a  little  after  six,  to  find 
the  sparrows  busy  tunneling  up  and  down  the 
bank,  devouring  the  Poppies  that  I  planted  yes- 
terday. How  they  can  see  the  seeds  at  all,  or 
why  they  should  care  to  feast  on  anything  so 
small,  or  why  they  do  not  all  perish,  as  poor 
Pillicoddy  proposed  doing,  from  the  effects  of 
such  doses  of  opium,  passes  my  understanding. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  plant  them 
all  over  and  then  trail  through  the  dewy  grass 
long  boards  to  lay  up  and  down,  covering  the 
bank,  for  protection. 

First,  there  were  the  small  Tea  Rosebushes  to 
be  set  out  in  their  sunny  bed,  made  rich  with 
finely  sifted  manure  and  soot  and  a  sprinkling 
of  wood  ashes.  And  here  let  me  say  that  all 
through  the  spring,  beginning  when  the  hardy 
Damask  and  Jacqueminots,  etc.,  are  just  unfold- 
ing their  leaf  buds,  it  is  a  most  excellent  plan  to 
sift  wood  ashes  quite  thickly  over  all  the  Rose- 


52  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

bushes,  either  just  after  a  shower  or  after  you 
have  been  sprinkling  them ;  let  it  remain  on 
them  for  several  hours, —  if  the  sun  is  not  shining 
I  leave  it  half  a  day,  —  but  then  it  must  all  be 
carefully  washed  off,  every  trace  of  it,  or  it  will 
spoil  the  leaves.  This  kills  or  discourages  all 
sorts  of  insect  pests,  and  the  effect  of  the  ashes 
on  the  soil  about  their  roots  is  most  beneficial  to 
the  Roses. 

As  I  sat  in  measureless  content  by  the  little 
flower  bed,  carefully  slipping  my  pretty  Bon 
Silenes  and  Catherine  Mermets  and  yellow  Sun- 
sets and  the  rest  out  of  their  pots,  and  gently 
firming  them  in  the  ground,  with  plenty  of  water 
for  refreshment,  a  cloud  of  the  most  delicious 
perfume  brooded  about  me  from  a  bed  of  white 
violets  at  the  left,  the  hardiest,  faithfulest,  friend- 
liest little  flowers  in  the  world.  I  found  two 
small  Polyantha  Roses  had  lived  all  winter  in  this 
sheltered  bed ;  that  was  indeed  a  charming  find  ! 
At  the  back  of  it  grows  a  tall  Jacqueminot,  a 
black  Tuscany  Rose,  and  the  strong  white  Rosa 
Rugosa,  a  Japanese  variety  which  bears  very 
large  single  flowers  in  the  greatest  profusion. 
This  Rose  is  extremely  valuable,  easily  obtained, 
so  hardy  as  to  be  almost  indestructible,  and  abso- 
lutely untroubled  by  any  disease  or  insect  plague 
whatever.  Its  foliage  is  always  fresh  and  hand- 
some, and  its  seed  vessels  are  huge  scarlet  balls 
as  large  as  an  average  Crab-Apple,  most  ornamen- 
tal after  the  flowers  are  gone.  But  the  old,  old 
black  Tuscany  Rose  is  the  most  precious  of  all. 
Mine  came  from  an  ancient  garden  that  vanished 


AN   ISLAND  GARDEN  53 

long  ago,  but  which  used  to  be  a  glory  to  the 
town  in  which  it  grew.  It  is  a  hardy  Rose  also, 
in  color  so  darkly  red  as  to  be  almost  black,  —  a 
warm  red,  less  crimson  than  scarlet,  glowing  with 
a  kind  of  smouldering  splendor,  with  only  two 
rows  of  petals  round  a  centre  of  richest  gold. 
At  the  end  of  this  bed  is  a  Water  Hyacinth  float- 
ing in  its  tub,  and  near  it,  in  another  tub,  a  large 
pink  Water  Lily,  kept  over  from  last  summer  in 
a  frost-proof  cellar,  is  sending  up  the  loveliest 
leaves,  touched  with  so  sweet  a  crimson  as  to  be 
almost  as  delightful  as  the  blossoms  themselves. 
All  the  rest  of  this  day  was  spent  in  transplanting 
Asters  from  boxes  into  the  beds  all  over  the  gar- 
den, edging  nearly  every  bed  with  them,  so  that 
when  the  fleeting  glory  of  Poppies  and  other  ear- 
lier annuals  is  gone  there  will  still  be  beautiful 
color  to  gladden  our  eyes  late  in  the  summer, 
quite  into  the  autumn  days. 

In  the  afternoon  I  had  all  the  many  boxes  of 
Sweet  Peas  brought  to  the  piazza  to  be  ready  for 
transplanting,  but  remembering  the  sparrows,  I 
covered  each  box  carefully  with  mosquito  netting 
before  leaving  them  for  the  night. 

1 4th.  Sunday.  A  storm  of  wild  wind  and 
flooding  rain,  the  storm  the  loons  predicted !  At 
breakfast  my  gardening  brother  said,  "  Well,  my 
sweet  peas  are  all  gone ! "  "  Oh,"  I  cried  in 
the  greatest  sympathy,  "  what  has  happened  to 
them  ? "  for  he  had  planted  six  pounds  or  more, 
and  they  had  come  up  finely.  "  Sparrows,"  was 
his  laconic  reply.  I  flew  to  my  boxes  on  the 
piazza :  they  were  safe,  only  through  a  tiny  crack 


54  AN   ISLAND  GARDEN 

in  the  net  over  one  a  bird  had  wriggled  its  little 
body,  and  pulled  up  and  flung  the  plants  to  right 
and  left  all  over  the  steps.  But  my  brother's  long 
rows,  so  green  last  night,  were  bare  except  for 
broken  stems  and  withering  leaves.  Alas,  it  is  so 
much  trouble  to  cover  such  a  large  area  with  net- 
ting, he  thought  this  time  he  would  trust  to  luck, 
or  Providence,  or  whatever  one  chooses  to  call  it, 
but  it  is  a  fatal  thing  to  do.  Now  he  has  to 
plant  all  over  again,  even  though  I  shall  share  my 
boxes  with  him,  and  it  will  make  his  garden  very 
late  indeed.  This  time  he  will  not  fail  to  put 
nets  over  all !  I  sat  on  the  piazza  sheltered  from 
the  rain  and  watched  the  birds.  Unmindful  of 
the  tempest,  they  skipped  gayly  round  the  garden, 
over  and  round  the  steps,  examined  all  the  tucked 
up  boxes  of  Sweet  Peas,  wished  they  could  get  in, 
but  rinding  it  out  of  the  question  gave  it  up  and 
resigned  themselves  to  the  inevitable.  To  and 
fro,  here  and  there  they  went,  peering  into  every 
nook  and  corner,  behind  every  leaf  and  stick  and 
board  and  stalk,  busily  pecking  away  and  devour- 
ing something  with  the  greatest  industry.  I 
drew  nearer  to  discover  what  it  could  be,  and  to 
my  great  joy  found  it  was  the  slugs  which  the 
rain  had  called  forth  from  their  hiding-places; 
the  birds  were  working  the  most  comprehensive 
slaughter  among  them.  At  that  pleasing  sight 
I  forgave  them  on  the  spot  all  their  trespasses 
against  me. 

1 5th.  A  thick  fog  wrapped  the  world  in  dim- 
ness early  this  morning ;  at  eight  o'clock  it  was 
rolling  off  and  piling  itself  in  glorious  headlands 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  55 

over  the  coast,  gleaming  snow  white  in  the  sun, 
but  here  and  there  thin  silver  strips  lay  across 
distant  sails  and  islands,  lingering  as  if  loath  to 
leave  the  earth  for  the  sky.  I  took  the  baskets 
of  plants  I  had  found  necessary  to  dig  up  to  give 
the  rest  room,  and  paddled  across  to  the  next 
island  in  a  little  lapstreaked  dory,  to  give  them 
to  my  neighbors  for  their  flower  plots.  Great  is 
the  pleasure  in  the  giving  and  the  taking.  It  was 
such  a  heavenly  morning,  so  blue  and  calm  after 
the  tumult  of  yesterday !  Along  the  far-off  coast 
the  joyous  hills  seemed  laughing  in  the  sunshine, 
and  the  great  sea  rippled  all  over  with  smiles. 

From  the  low  shores  of  the  islands  came  the 
singing  of  the  birds  over  the  still  water,  with  an 
indescribably  quiet  and  peaceful  effect,  and  as  I 
rowed  into  the  cove  of  my  destination,  passing 
the  coasts  of  the  little  island  called  Malaga,  I  saw 
outlined  against  the  sky  the  lovely  grasses  al- 
ready blossoming  among  the  rocks.  A  kingbird 
sat  on  a  bowlder  and  meditated ;  there  was  no  tree, 
so  he  was  fain  to  be  content  with  a  rock  to  sit  on. 
I  passed  him  almost  near  enough  to  touch  him 
with  my  oar,  but  he  did  not  stir,  not  he!  My 
errand  done  and  the  plants  distributed,  I  hastened 
back  to  my  own  dear  little  plot  again,  and  up  and 
down  all  the  paths  I  went,  digging  out  every 
unwelcome  root  of  grass,  plantain,  mallow,  cat- 
nip, clover,  and  the  rest,  once  more  raking  them 
clear  and  clean.  Outside,  in  a  bed  by  itself,  I 
sunk  four  pots  of  repotted  Chrysanthemums,  to 
be  ready  for  the  windows  in  early  winter.  All 
along  the  piazza  are  the  house  plants  waiting  to 


56  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

be  attended  to,  cut  back,  repotted,  and  the  soil 
enriched  for  winter  blooming.  Every  day  I  at- 
tend to  them,  a  few  at  a  time.  I  cannot  spare 
much  time  from  my  planting,  weeding,  watering, 
transplanting,  and  so  forth,  in  the  garden,  but 
soon  they  will  be  all  done.  Began  to  transplant  a 
few  of  the  hundreds  of  the  main  body  of  Sweet 
Pea  plants  into  the  ground,  carefully  covering  each 
bed  as  I  finished  with  breadths  of  light  mosquito 
netting  to  make  them  sparrow-proof.  As  I  was 
working  busily  I  heard  the  sweet  calling  of  cur- 
lews, and  looking  up  saw  six  of  them  wheeling 
overhead.  Such  sociable  birds !  They  replied  to 
my  challenge  as  if  I  had  been  one  of  themselves, 
and  as  long  as  their  calls  were  answered,  lingered 
near,  but  being  forgotten  presently  drifted  off  on 
the  wind,  their  clear  whistle  sounding  fainter  and 
fainter  as  they  were  lost  in  the  distance.  All  the 
rest  of  this  day  was  spent  in  setting  out  Sweet 
Peas,  and  it  will  take  more  than  a  whole  day  more 
to  finish,  for  I  put  them  all  round  against  the 
fence  outside,  and  into  every  space  I  can  spare 
for  them  within.  After  tea  I  hunted  slugs  as 
usual,  and  scattered  ashes  and  lime,  but  I  really 
feel  that  my  friends  the  toads  have  done  me  the 
inestimable  favor  of  reducing  their  hideous  num- 
bers, for  certainly  there  are  less  than  last  year  so 
far.  Early  in  April,  as  I  was  vigorously  hoeing 
in  a  corner,  I  unearthed  a  huge  toad,  to  my  per- 
fect delight  and  satisfaction ;  he  had  lived  all 
winter,  he  had  doubtless  fed  on  slugs  all  the 
autumn.  I  could  have  kissed  him  on  the  spot! 
Very  carefully  I  placed  him  in  the  middle  of  a 


AN   ISLAND  GARDEN  57 

large  green  clump  of  tender  Columbine.  He 
really  was  n't  more  than  half  awake,  after  his  long 
winter  nap,  but  he  was  alive  and  well,  and  when 
later  I  went  to  look  after  him,  lo !  he  had  crept 
off,  perhaps  to  snuggle  into  the  earth  once  more 
for  another  nap,  till  the  sun  should  have  a  little 
more  power. 

To  our  great  joy  the  frogs  that  we  imported 
last  year  are  also  alive.  We  heard  the  soft  rippling 
of  their  voices  with  the  utmost  pleasure ;  it  is  a 
lovely  liquid-sweet  sound.  They  have  not  lived 
over  a  winter  here  before.  We  feared  that  the 
vicinity  of  so  much  salt  water  might  be  injurious 
to  them,  but  this  year  they  have  survived,  and 
perhaps  they  may  be  established  for  good. 

May  2Oth.  All  the  past  days  have  been  filled 
with  transplanting  and  the  most  vigorous  weed- 
ing. In  these  five  days  the  Sweet  Peas  have 
grown  so  tall  I  was  obliged  to  go  after  sticks  for 
them  to-day,  wheeling  my  light  wheelbarrow  up 
over  the  hill  and  across  the  island  toward  the 
south,  where  among  the  old  ruined  walls  of  cel- 
lars and  houses,  and  little,  almost  erased  garden 
plots,  the  thick  growth  of  Bayberry  and  Elder 
offered  me  all  the  sticks  I  needed.  Such  a  charm- 
ing business  was  this  !  So  beautiful  the  narrow 
road  all  the  way,  bordered  by  the  lovely  Shad- 
bush  in  bridal  white,  the  delicate  red  Cherry  with 
flowers  so  like  Hawthorn  as  to  be  frequently  mis- 
taken for  it,  the  pink  Chokecherry,  the  common 
Wild  Cherry  (which  seems  to  attract  to  itself  most 
of  the  caterpillars  in  the  land),  all  blossoming  for 
dear  life,  and  among  thickets  of  Blackberry,  Rasp- 


58  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

berry,  Gooseberry,  Wild  Currant,  Winterberry, 
Spirea,  and  I  know  not  what,  such  crowds  of  flow- 
ers !  The  last  of  the  gay  golden  Erythroniums,  the 
Dogtooth  Violets,  dancing  in  the  breeze ;  the  large, 
softly  colored  Anemones,  now  nearing  their  end ; 
the  banks  of  pearly  Eyebrights ;  the  white  Violets, 
lowly  and  fragrant;  the  straw-colored  Uvularia; 
the  ivory  spikes  of  Solomon's  Seal,  just  breaking 
into  bloom,  with  its  companion,  the  starry  Trien- 
talis ;  the  tufts  of  Fern  in  cool  clefts  of  rocks,  —  of 
these  I  gathered  several  clumps  for  my  fernery  in 
the  shade  of  the  piazza.  It  would  take  too  long 
to  tell  of  all  the  flowers  I  saw,  but  one  more  I 
must  mention.  At  the  upper  edge  of  a  little  cove 
at  the  southwest,  where  the  old  settlement  of  more 
than  a  hundred  years  ago  was  thickest,  the  earth 
was  blue  with  the  pretty  Gill-go-over-the-ground, 
its  charming  blossoms  covering  the  green  turf  and 
cropping  out  among  the  loose  stones,  —  a  dear, 
quaint  little  flower  in  two  shades  of  blue  marked 
with  rich  red-purple.  It  was  too  early  for  the 
Pimpernel  to  be  in  bloom,  but  the  pink  Herb 
Robert  was  out,  the  smallest  of  all  the  Geranium 
family,  and  I  saw  ranks  of  Goldenrod  more  than  a 
foot  high  getting  ready  for  autumn.  To  tell  all  I 
saw  and  all  I  loved  and  rejoiced  in  would  take  a 
whole  day.  Oh,  the  green  and  brown  and  golden 
mosses,  the  lovely,  lowly  growths  along  the  way, 
and  oh,  the  birds  that  sang  and  the  waves  that 
leaped  and  murmured  along  the  shore !  The 
sweet  sky  and  the  soft  clouds,  the  far  sails,  the 
full  joy  of  the  summer  morning,  who  shall  tell 
it  ?  I  was  so  happy  trundling  home  my  barrow 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  59 

load  of  sticks  piled  to  toppling,  and  finally  tip- 
ping it  up  at  the  garden  gate  !  It  took  the  whole 
afternoon  to  stick  the  Peas,  and  I  enjoyed  every 
moment  of  it.  Before  putting  the  dry  brittle 
branches  in  the  ground,  with  a  small,  light  hoe  I 
went  all  over  and  through  the  earth  about  the 
Sweet  Peas,  uprooting  chickweed  and  clover,  pig- 
weed and  dogfennel,  till  there  was  not  a  weed  to 
be  seen  near  them.  When  night  fell  I  had  only 
just  finished  this  pleasant  work. 

2 1 st.  Weeding  all  day  in  the  hot  sun;  hard 
work,  but  pleasant.  I  find  it  the  best  way  to  lay 
two  boards  down  near  the  plot  I  have  to  weed, 
and  on  them  spread  a  waterproof,  or  piece  of  car- 
pet, and  kneeling  or  half  reclining  on  this,  get  my 
face  as  close  to  my  work  as  possible.  Sitting  flat 
on  these  boards,  I  weed  all  within  my  reach,  then 
roll  up  a  bit  of  carpet  not  bigger  than  a  flat-iron 
holder,  put  it  at  the  edge  of  the  space  I  have 
cleared,  and  lean  my  elbow  on  it ;  that  gives  me 
another  arm's-length  that  I  can  reach  over,  and 
so  I  go  on  till  all  is  done.  I  move  the  rest  for  my 
elbow  here  and  there  as  needed  among  the  flow- 
ers. It  takes  me  longer  to  weed  than  most  peo- 
ple, because  I  will  do  it  so  thoroughly.  It  is 
such  a  pleasure  and  satisfaction  to  clear  the  beau- 
tiful brown  earth,  smooth  and  soft,  from  these 
rough  growths,  leaving  the  beautiful  green  Pop- 
pies and  Larkspurs  and  Pinks  and  Asters,  and 
the  rest,  in  undisturbed  possession  !  Now  come 
the  potent  heats  that  preface  summer,  and  every- 
thing grows  and  expands  so  fast,  the  process  of 
thinning  the  crowded  plants  must  begin  forth- 


60  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

with.  Oh,  for  days  twice  as  long!  Yet  these 
approach  the  longest  days  of  the  year. 

22d.  Another  glorious  day  of  heat;  the  sun 
fairly  drove  me  into  the  shade  to  work  among  the 
house  plants  on  the  piazza.  Hot,  hot,  and  bright, 
and  outside  the  garden  growing  things  begin  to 
pine  for  showers.  When  the  sun  declined  toward 
the  west  in  the  afternoon,  I  sat  in  the  shade  and 
from  the  veranda  turned  the  hose  with  its  fine 
sprinkler  all  over  the  garden.  Oh,  the  joy  of  it ! 
The  delicious  scents  from  earth  and  leaves,  the 
glitter  of  drops  on  the  young  green,  the  grati- 
tude of  all  the  plants  at  the  refreshing  bath  and 
draught  of  water !  The  rich  red  Wallflowers  sent 
up  fresh  clouds  of  incense,  the  brilliant  and  deli- 
cate Iceland  Poppies  bowed  their  lovely  heads  and 
swayed  with  pleasure  at  the  bright  shower.  But 
rain  is  greatly  needed,  searching  rain  which  shall 
drench  the  ground  and  reach  the  roots,  and  give 
new  life  to  everything. 

23d.  Again  hot,  still,  and  splendid.  Spent  all 
the  morning  hammering  stakes  down  into  the 
beds  near  Hollyhocks,  Sunflowers,  Larkspurs, 
Lilies,  Roses,  single  Dahlias,  and  all  the  tall  grow- 
ing things.  Many  were  tall  enough  to  fasten  to 
the  stakes, — all  will  be,  presently.  One  enormous 
red  Hollyhock  grew  thirteen  feet  high  by  actual 
measurement  before  it  stopped  last  year,  in  a 
corner  near  the  piazza.  Oh,  but  he  was  superb ! 
At  night  the  lights  from  one  window  streamed 
through  a  leafy  arch  of  clambering  vine,  and  illu- 
mined him  as  he  swayed  to  and  fro  in  the  wind,  a 
stately  column  of  beauty  and  grace.  A  black-red 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  6l 

comrade  leaned  against  him  and  mingled  its  rich 
blossoms  with  his  brighter  color,  and  near  him 
were  rose,  pink,  and  cherry,  and  white  spikes  of 
bloom,  lovely  to  behold. 

All  the  afternoon  weeding  and  thinning  out 
the  plants.  The  large  bank  sloping  to  the  south- 
west outside  the  garden  is  a  perfect  mass  of  flow- 
ers to  be,  —  no  weeds,  for  I  have  conquered  them; 
but  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  pull  up  plants 
enough  to  give  all  room.  Again  and  again  I 
have  thinned  them;  now  I  think  I  must  leave 
them  to  their  fate  and  let  it  be  a  case  of  survival 
of  the  fittest. 

24th.  Last  night,  after  having  given  myself  the 
pleasure  of  watering  the  garden,  I  could  not  sleep 
for  anxiety  about  the  slugs.  I  seldom  water  the 
flowers  at  night  because  the  moisture  calls  them 
out,  and  they  have  an  orgy  feasting  on  my  most 
precious  children  all  night  long.  Before  going 
to  bed  I  went  all  over  the  inclosure  and,  alas,  I 
found  them  swarming  on  the  Sweet  Peas ;  baby 
slugs,  tiny  creatures  covering  the  tender  leaves 
and  the  dry  pea-sticks  even,  thick  as  grains  of 
sand.  I  was  in  despair,  and  though  I  knew  they 
did  not  mind  ashes,  I  took  the  fine  sifter  and 
covered  Peas,  sticks,  slugs,  and  all  with  a  thick, 
smothering  cloud  of  wood  ashes.  Then  I  left 
them  with  many  misgivings  and  went  to  bed,  but 
not  to  sleep,  for  thinking  of  them.  At  twelve 
o'clock  I  said  to  myself,  You  know  the  slugs  don't 
care  a  rap  for  all  the  ashes  in  the  world,  but  the 
friendly  toads  may  be  kept  away  by  them,  and 
who  knows  if  such  a  smother  of  them  may  not 


62  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

kill  the  precious  Peas  themselves  ?  I  could  not 
bear  it  any  longer,  rose  up  and  donned  my  dress- 
ing gown,  and  out  into  the  dark  and  dew  I  bore 
the  hose,  over  my  shoulders  coiled,  to  the  very 
farthest  corners  of  the  garden,  and  washed  off 
every  atom  of  ashes  in  the  black  midnight,  and 
came  back  and  slept  in  peace. 

These  are  most  anxious  times  on  account  of 
the  slugs.  Now,  every  morning  when  I  rise  I 
go  at  once  into  the  garden  at  four  o'clock  and 
make  a  business  of  slaughtering  them  till  half 
past  five,  when  I  stop  for  breakfast.  If  the 
day  is  pleasant  they  are  all  hidden  by  that  time, 
for  they  dread  so  the  touch  of  the  sun.  But  in 
the  hoary  morning  dew  they  delight.  This  is  the 
hardest  part  of  my  gardening,  and  I  rejoice  that 
not  one  person  in  a  thousand  has  this  plague  of 
slugs  to  fight.  It  is  so  difficult  to  destroy  them ; 
to  see  their  countless  legions  and  feel  so  helpless 
before  their  numbers,  to  find  one's  most  precious 
favorites  nibbled  and  ragged,  and  everything 
threatened  with  destruction  is  a  trial  indeed.  I 
carry  a  large  pepper-box  filled  with  air-slaked  lime 
and  shake  it  over  them  everywhere.  They  are  so 
small  this  year  that  it  destroys  them ;  they  turn 
milky  and  miserably  perish,  but  the  next  morn- 
ing there  are  just  as  many  more  to  take  their 
places.  Still  I  patiently  persevere,  carefully 
washing  off  the  lime,  so  anxious  lest  it  should 
harm  the  plants,  and  killing  by  hand  all  the  larger 
monsters. 

In  that  most  charming  old  book,  Gilbert 
White's  "  Natural  History  of  Selborne,"  I  find  he 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  63 

speaks  of  these  arch  enemies  of  mine  as  "  un- 
noticed myriads  of  small  shell-less  snails  called 
slugs,  which  silently  and  imperceptibly  make 
amazing  havoc  in  field  and  garden ; "  adding  in  a 
note,  "  Farmer  Young  of  Norton  Farm  says  that 
this  spring  (1777)  about  four  acres  of  his  wheat 
in  one  field  were  entirely  destroyed  by  the  slugs, 
which  swarmed  on  the  blades  of  corn  and  devoured 
it  as  fast  as  it  sprung." 

Poor  Farmer  Young !  I  deeply  sympathize 
with  him  and  his  long  buried  trouble ! 

Again  White  says :  "  The  shell-less  snails  called 
slugs  are  in  motion  all  winter  in  mild  weather  and 
commit  great  depredations  on  garden  plants,  and 
much  injure  the  green  wheat." 

There  was  a  happy  time  when  such  a  thing  as 
a  slug  was  unknown  on  my  island,  and  I  well  re- 
member the  first  that  were  brought  here  among 
some  Moonflowers  that  were  imported  from  a  dis- 
tant green-house.  I  saw  them  adhering  to  the 
outside  of  the  flower-pots  and  did  not  kill  them, 
never  dreaming  what  powers  of  evil  they  would 
become ! 

25th.  Every  day  the  garden  grows  more  inter- 
esting, more  fascinating.  Buds  full  of  promise 
show  themselves  on  the  single  Dahlias  whose 
seeds  were  only  planted  in  February ;  on  the  Rose 
Campions,  the  perennial  kind,  on  the  tall  white 
Lilies.  The  Hollyhocks  are  thick  with  buds,  and 
rich  spikes  head  all  the  boughs  of  the  Larkspurs, 
and  as  for  the  Roses,  they  are  simply  wonderful. 
The  Tea  Roses  are  loaded  with  buds ;  on  one  of 
the  Polyanthas  that  lived  all  winter  in  the  ground 


64  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

I  counted  fifty-two,  and  it  is  a  tiny  bush  not  more 
than  a  foot  high.  The  dear  old  Sweet  Rocket  is 
blossoming  in  every  corner,  sending  up  its  grate- 
ful perfume.  Now  come  days  of  great  anxiety 
about  the  Margaret  Carnations  that  I  have  so 
loved  and  watched  and  tended  since  the  first  of 
March.  They  were  splendid  plants,  full  of  health 
and  strength  and  all  ready  to  bloom.  Alas,  I  saw,  a 
day  or  two  ago,  the  leaves  turning  yellow.  I  knew 
too  well  what  that  meant.  There  was  but  one 
thing  to  do.  Down  on  my  knees  I  went  this  morn- 
ing, and  bringing  my  face  close  to  the  ground, 
began  pulling  apart  the  central  shoot  in  each  plant, 
where  the  sickly  color  hung  its  flag  of  distress  for 
a  signal.  Down,  down  a  cruel  length,  into  the 
very  heart  and  core  of  each  precious  stem  I  tore 
my  reluctant  way  to  find  that  abomination  of 
which  I  was  in  search,  namely,  a  short  fat  lively 
white  worm ;  for  him  I  probed  and  brought  him 
up  on  the  point  of  a  pin,  and  having  a  small 
quantity  of  alcohol  at  hand  for  the  purpose, 
dropped  him  into  it  forthwith,  for  instant  and  com- 

?lete  destruction.  Over  forty  of  these  beasts  did 
destroy,  and  left  the  tattered  Pinks  to  rest  and 
recover,  if  they  could,  poor  things,  after  such  a 
terrible  experience!  These  worms  seem  made 
for  all  fragrant  Pinks;  as  far  as  my  experience 
goes  they  never  attack  anything  else.  How  in  the 
world,  L  wonder,  do  they  know  where  the  Carna- 
tions are  planted  and  when  to  come  for  them? 
Such  a  scene  of  devastation  as  is  my  pretty  bed 
of  Pinks  of  which  I  was  so  proud,  dwarfed  and 
yellow,  with  their  gnawed-off  leaves  strewn  about 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  65 

all  over  the  ground !  But  they  will  put  out  side 
shoots  and  patiently  strive  to  fulfill  heaven's  in- 
tent for  them,  of  which  they  are  conscious  from 
the  least  root-tip  to  the  end  of  every  battered  leaf. 
There  is  something  pathetic  as  well  as  wonderful 
in  the  way  in  which  these  growing  things  of  al- 
most all  kinds  meet  disaster  and  discouragement. 
Should  they  suffer  misfortune  like  this,  —  the  lop- 
ping of  a  limb,  or  the  losing  of  buds,  or  any  sap- 
ping of  their  vitality,  —  if  the  cause  is  removed, 
they  will  try  so  hard  to  repair  damages,  send  out 
new  shoots,  make  strenuous  efforts  to  recover  the 
lost  ground,  and  still  perfect  blossom  and  fruit  as 
nature  meant  they  should.  There  is  a  lesson  to 
be  learned  of  them  on  which  I  have  often  pon- 
dered. 

June  3d.  This  has  been  an  exciting  day,  for  the 
Water  Lilies  I  sent  for  a  week  ago-  came  in  a  mys- 
terious damp  box  across  the  ocean  foam  !  I  had 
made  their  tubs  all  ready  for  them,  putting  in  the 
bottom  of  each  the  "  well-rotted  manure,"  and  over 
this  rich  earth  and  sand  mixed  in  proper  propor- 
tions. These  tubs,  or  rather  large,  tall  butter  firkins, 
stood  ready  in  their  places  along  the  sunniest  and 
most  sheltered  bed  in  the  garden.  Oh,  the  pleas- 
ure of  opening  that  box  and  finding  each  unfa- 
miliar treasure  packed  so  carefully  in  wet  moss, 
each  folded  in  oiled  paper  to  keep  it  moist,  and 
each  labeled  with  its  fascinating  name !  The  great 
pink  Lotus  of  Egypt,  the  purple  Lily  of  Zanzi- 
bar, and  the  red  one  of  the  same  sort,  the  golden 
Chromatella,  the  pure  white  African  variety  and 
the  smaller  native  white  one,  the  yellow  Water 


66  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

Poppy  and  the  little  exquisite  plant  called  Parrot's 
Feather,  that  creeps  all  about  over  the  water  and 
has  the  wonderful  living,  metallic  green  of  the 
plumage  of  the  handsome  green  parrots.  These, 
with  the  flourishing  Water  Hyacinth  I  already 
had  growing  in  its  tub  on  the  steps,  and  the  bright 
pink  Cape  Cod  Lily,  make  ten  tubs  of  water  plants, 
—  a  most  breathlessly  interesting  family  !  And 
I  must  not  forget  another  tub  of  seedling  Water- 
Lilies  that  I  am  watching  with  the  most  intense 
interest  also.  It  took  most  of  the  long,  happy 
day  to  plant  all  these  in  the  rich  wet  mud  and 
settle  them  in  their  comfortable  quarters.  I  laid 
some  horseshoes  I  had  picked  up  at  different 
times,  and  saved,  round  the  roots  to  hold  them 
down  temporarily,  while  I  gently  flooded  the  tubs 
with  water  and  rejoiced  to  see  the  lovely  leaves 
float  out  on  the  surface  fresh  as  if  they  were  at 
home.  Then  I  sifted  clean  beach  sand  over  the 
earth  about  them,  to  the  depth  of  an  inch  or  more, 
to  hold  the  soil  down  and  keep  the  water  clear, 
and  all  was  done.  What  delight  to  look  forward 
to  the  watching  and  tending  of  these  new  friends  ! 
I  find  myself  wondering  what  enemy  will  attack 
these,  for  surely  something  has  been  made  for 
their  destruction,  which  I  must  fight !  There  is 
not  a  growing  thing  in  the  garden  that  has  not  its 
enemies  and  destroyers,  fortunate  if  it  has  only 
one.  Just  at  this  time  there  is  a  rampant  little 
snuff-colored  spider  which  comes  in  from  the 
grass  and  fastens  upon  tender  growths  in  the  bor- 
ders about  the  house,  covering  the  succulent 
leaves  and  stems  of  Wild  Cucumbers  and  Morn- 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  67 

ing-glories,  and  even  Nasturtiums  and  Cornflow- 
ers, so  thickly  that  the  plant  is  not  to  be  seen  at 
all  for  them ;  they  are  like  a  brown  glove  over 
every  leaf,  and  they  suck  every  drop  of  sap  out  of 
the  plant,  leaving  it  perfectly  white.  They  are 
fatal  on  the  Sweet  Peas,  of  which  they  are  espe- 
cially fond.  No  poison  known  to  me  has  the 
slightest  effect  on  them ;  nothing  but  water  turned 
on  with  the  hose  in  floods  disturbs  them.  This 
washes  them  away  for  the  time  being.  It  has  to 
be  repeated,  however,  many  times  a  day,  for  they 
recover  from  their  drenching  and  return  to  their 
work  of  devastation  with  renewed  vigor.  Fortu- 
nately these  do  not,  like  the  slugs,  last  forever; 
they  are  gone  in  less  than  six  weeks ;  but  they 
keep  me  busy  indeed  while  they  stay. 

I  am  obliged  to  spend  a  good  deal  of  time  just 
now  hunting  and  destroying  different  bugs  and 
worms  and  so  forth.  The  blue-green  aphis  ap- 
pears on  certain  precious  Honeysuckle  buds,  and 
must  be  vigorously  syringed  with  fir-tree  oil  before 
he  gets  a  foothold  and  spreads  his  hideous  legions 
everywhere.  Also  the  lively  worm  that  ties  the 
Rose  leaves  together  and  gobbles  them  up  and 
hides  in  a  web  within  them,  that  I  may  find  and 
crush  him;  and  the  white  thrip  which  calls  for 
hellebore,  on  the  under  side  of  them,  and  many 
more,  must  be  attended  to  before  they  wax  strong 
and  bold  in  their  villainy  and  defy  me.  A  curious 
plague,  if  I  may  call  it  so,  has  come  upon  the  little 
garden,  in  the  shape  of  the  delicious  edible  mush- 
rooms, Coprinus  Comatus,  which  come  up  all  over 
the  place  and  with  slow  strength  heave  the 


68  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

ground  and  my  flowers  into  heaps,  thrusting 
handsome  long  ivory-white,  umbrella-shaped  heads 
on  stems  a  foot  long,  up  high  above  and  over 
most  things  in  the  beds.  But  these  are  eaten  as 
soon  as  they  appear,  and  are  not  such  a  very 
great  trial,  though  I  would  rather  they  left  my 
dear  flowers  undisturbed. 


!UCH  thought  should  be  given  to  the 
garden's  arrangement  with  regard  to 
economy  of  room,  where  one  has  but  a 
small  space  to  devote  to  it.  And  where 
one  is  unfamiliar  with  the  habits  of 
growth  of  the  various  plants  that  are  to  people  it, 
a  difficulty  arises  in  making  them  effective  and  so 
disposing  them  that  they  shall  not  interfere  with 
each  other.  For  instance,  in  most  cases  tall  plants 
should  be  put  back  against  walls  and  fences  and 
so  forth,  with  the  lower-growing  varieties  in  the 
foreground.  If  one  were  to  plant  Verbenas  and 
Venidium  among  Sunflowers  and  Hollyhocks,  or 
even  among  Carnation  Poppies  and  Cornflowers, 
Verbenas  and  Venidium  would  not  be  visible,  for 
their  habit  is  to  creep  close  to  the  ground,  and 
the  tall  growths  would  completely  hide  and  most 
likely  exterminate  them,  by  shutting  from  them 
the  sun  and  air  without  which  they  cannot  live. 
These  low,  creeping  plants  are,  however,  very 
useful  when  one  is  planning  for  a  succession  of 
69 


70  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

flowers.  I  plant  Pansies,  Verbenas,  Drummond's 
Phlox,  and  so  forth,  among  my  Pinks  and  Wall- 
flowers and  others  of  like  compact  habit,  so  that, 
when  the  higher  slender  plants  have  done  blos- 
soming, the  others,  which  seldom  cease  flowering 
till  frost,  may  still  clothe  the  ground  with  color 
and  beauty.  Of  course  it  goes  without  saying 
that  climbing  Vines  should  not  be  set  where  there 
is  nothing  upon  which  they  may  climb.  Indeed 
that  would  be  simple  cruelty  —  nothing  more  nor 
less.  Everything  that  needs  it  should  be  given 
a  support  without  fail  —  all  the  myriad  lovely 
Vines  that  one  may  have  with  so  little  trouble,  and 
which  seem  to  have  been  made  to  wreathe  the 
dwellings  of  men  with  freshness  and  beauty  and 
grace.  The  long  list  of  varieties  of  flowering  Clem- 
atis, so  many  shapes  and  colors,  the  numerous 
Honeysuckles,  the  Wistaria,  Passion  -  flowers, 
Morning-glories,  Hops,  the  Dutchman's  Pipe,  the 
Coboeas,  Woodbine,  and  many  others,  not  count- 
ing Sweet  Peas  and  Nasturtiums,  —  these  last 
among  the  most  beautiful  and  decorative  of  all,  — 
every  one  is  twice  as  valuable  if  given  the  support 
it  demands.  In  the  case  of  Nasturtiums,  how- 
ever, which  seem  with  endless  good-nature  ready 
to  adapt  themselves  to  any  conditions  of  exist- 
ence, except,  perhaps,  being  expected  to  live  in  a 
swamp,  it  is  not  so  important  that  they  should 
have  something  upon  which  to  climb.  A  very 
good  way  is  to  put  them  near  a  rock  one  wishes  to 
have  covered,  or  to  let  them  run  down  a  bank  upon 
which  nothing  else  cares  to  grow.  They  will 
clothe  such  places  with  wild  and  beautiful  luxuri- 
ance of  green  leaves  and  glowing  flowers. 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  71 

It  seems  strange  to  write  a  book  about  a  little 
garden  only  fifty  feet  long  by  fifteen  wide !  But 
then,  as  a  friend  pleasantly  remarked  to  me,  "  it 
extends  upward,"  and  what  it  lacks  in  area  is  more 
than  compensated  by  the  large  joy  that  grows  out 
of  it  and  its  uplifting  and  refreshment  of  "the 
Spirit  of  Man." 

I  have  made  a  plan  of  this  minute  domain  to 
show  how  it  may  be  possible  to  accomplish  much 
within  such  narrow  compass,  and  also  to  give  an 
idea  of  an  advantageous  method  of  grouping  in 
a  space  so  confined.  I  have  not  room  to  experi- 
ment with  rockworks  and  ribbon-borders  and  the 
like,  nor  should  I  do  it  even  if  I  had  all  the  room 
in  the  world.  For  mine  is  just  a  little  old-fash- 
ioned garden  where  the  flowers  come  together  to 
praise  the  Lord  and  teach  all  who  look  upon  them 
to  do  likewise. 

All  through  the  months  of  April  and  May, 
when  the  weather  is  not  simply  impossible,  I  am 
at  work  in  it,  and  also  through  most  of  June.  It 
is  wonderful  how  much  work  one  can  find  to  do 
in  so  tiny  a  plot  of  ground.  But  in  the  latter 
weeks  of  June  there  comes  a  time  when  I  can 
begin  to  take  breath  and  rest  a  little  from  these 
difficult  yet  pleasant  labors ;  an  interval  when  I 
may  take  time  to  consider,  a  morning  when  I  may 
seek  the  hammock  in  the  shady  piazza,  and,  look- 
ing across  my  happy  flower  beds,  let  the  sweet 
day  sink  deep  into  my  heart.  From  the  flower 
beds  I  look  over  the  island  slopes  to  the  sea,  and 
realize  it  all,  —  the  rapture  of  growth,  the  deli- 
cious shades  of  green  that  clothe  the  ground,  Wild 


72  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

Rose,  Bayberry,  Spirea,  Shadbush,  Elder,  and 
many  more.  How  beautiful  they  are,  these  grassy, 
rocky  slopes  shelving  gradually  to  the  sea,  with 
here  and  there  a  mass  of  tall,  blossoming  grass 
softly  swaying  in  the  warm  wind  against  the 
peaceful,  pale  blue  water!  Among  the  grass  a  few 
ghostly  dandelion  tops  yet  linger,  with  now  and 
then  a  belated  golden  flower.  How  lovely  is  the 
delicacy  of  the  white  bleached  rocks,  the  little 
spaces  of  shallow  soil  exquisite  with  vivid  crimson 
Sorrel,  or  pearly  with  the  brave  Eyebright,  all 
against  the  soft  color  of  the  sea.  What  harmony 
of  movement  in  all  these  radiant  growths  just 
stirred  by  the  gentle  air!  Here  and  there  a  stout 
little  bough  of  Chokecherry,  with  clustered  white 
blossoms  tipped  with  pink,  springing  from  a  cleft 
in  the  rock,  lights  up  in  sunshine,  its  pink  more 
glowing  for  the  turquoise  background  of  the 
ocean.  How  hot  the  sun  blazes !  The  Blue-eyed 
Grass  is  quite  faint  and  drooping  in  the  rich  turf, 
but  the  yellow  Crowfoot  shines  strong  and  steady; 
no  sunshine  is  too  bright  for  it.  In  the  garden 
the  tall  Jacqueminot  Rosebushes  gather  power 
from  the  great  warmth  and  light,  and  hold  out 
their  thick  buds  to  absorb  it  and  fold  its  splendor 
in  their  inmost  hearts.  One  or  two  of  the  heavi- 
est buds  begin  to  loosen  their  crimson  velvet  pet- 
als and  shed  their  delicious  perfume  on  the  air. 
The  Oriental  Poppy  glories  in  the  heat.  Among 
its  buds,  thrust  upward  like  solid  green  apples,  one 
has  burst  into  burning  flame,  each  of  its  broad 
fiery  petals  as  large  as  the  whole  inside  of  my 
hand.  In  the  Iceland  Poppy  bed  the  ardent  light 


i 

<<<{<»«OuDOa    uuo        - 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  73 

has  wooed  a  graceful  company  of  drooping  buds 
to  blow,  and  their  cups  of  delicate  fire,  orange  and 
yellow,  sway  lightly  on  stems  as  slender  as  grass. 
In  sheltered  corners  the  Forget-me-not  spreads  its 
cool,  heaven-blue  clusters ;  by  the  fence  "  the  Lark- 
spurs listen "  while  they  wait ;  the  large  purple 
Pansies  shrink  and  turn  from  the  too  brilliant  gaze 
of  the  sun.  Rose  Campions,  Tea  Roses,  Mignon- 
ette, Mangolds,  Coreopsis,  the  rows  of  Sweet  Peas, 
the  broad-leaved  Hollyhocks  and  the  rest,  rejoice 
and  grow  visibly  with  every  moment  of  the  glori- 
ous day.  Clematis  and  Honeysuckle  almost  seem 
to  hurry,  Nasturtiums  reach  their  shield-like  leaves 
and  wind  the  stems  thereof  round  any  and  every 
stick  and  string  they  can  touch  by  which  to  lift 
themselves,  here  and  there  showing  their  first 
glowing  flowers,  and  climbing  eagerly.  The  long 
large  buds  of  the  white  Clematis,  the  earliest  of 
all,  are  swelling  visibly  before  my  eyes,  and  the 
buds  of  the  early  June  Honeysuckle  are  reddening 
at  the  end  of  every  spray.  In  one  corner  a  tall 
purple  Columbine  hangs  its  myriad  clustered 
bells ;  each  flower  has  six  shell-like  whorls  set  in  a 
circle,  colored  like  rich  amethysts  and  lined  with 
lustrous  silver,  white  as  frost.  Cornflowers  like 
living  sparks  of  exquisite  color,  rose  and  azure, 
white  and  purple,  twinkle  all  over  the  place,  and 
the  heavenly  procession  begins  in  good  earnest. 
The  Grapevine  smooths  out  its  young  leaves, — 
they  are  woolly  and  crimson ;  the  wind  blows  and 
shows  me  their  grayish-white  under  surfaces.  I 
think  of  Browning's  tender  song,  the  verse,  — 


74  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

"  The  leaf  buds  on  the  vine  are  woolly, 

I  noticed  that  to-day, 
One  day  more  bursts  them  open  fully, 
You  know  the  red  turns  gray." 

The  Echinocystus  plants  that  have  sprung  in 
thick  ranks  along  the  edge  of  the  beds  against 
the  piazza  are  fairly  storming  up  the  trellis,  hav- 
ing sown  themselves  in  the  autumn ;  they  have 
just  really  begun  to  take  firm  hold,  and  are  climb- 
ing hand  over  hand,  as  sailors  do,  with  their  strong 
green  tendrils  stretching  out  like  arms  and  hands 
to  right  and  left,  laying  hold  of  every  available 
thing  by  which  to  cling  and  spring  upward  to  the 
very  eaves.  There  in  August  they  form  a  closely 
woven  curtain  of  lush,  light  green,  overhung  with 
large,  loose  clusters  of  starry  white  flowers  having 
a  pure,  delicious  fragrance  like  honey  and  the 
wax  of  the  comb. 

Now  come  the  most  perfect  days  of  the  year, 
blue  days,  hot  on  the  continent,  but  heavenly  here, 
where  the  cool  breeze  breathes  round  the  islands 
from  the  great  expanse  of  whispering  water.  De- 
lightful it  is  to  lie  here  and  rest  and  realize  all 
this  beauty  and  rejoice  in  all  its  joy !  The  dis- 
tant coast-line  is  dim  in  soft  mirage. 

tt  Half  lost  in  the  liquid  azure  bloom  of  a  crescent  of  sea, 
The  silent,  sapphire-spangled,  marriage-ring  of  the  land." 

It  lies  so  lovely,  far  away!  At  its  edge  the 
water  is  glassy  calm,  the  houses  and  large,  glim- 
mering piles  of  buildings  along  its  whole  length 
show  white  in  the  hot  haze ;  in  the  offing  the  far- 
off  sails  are  half  lost  in  this  shimmering  veil ; 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  75 

farther  out  there  is  a  soft  wind  blowing;  little 
fishing-boats  with  their  sails  furled  lie  at  anchor 
between  us  and  the  land,  faintly  outlined  against 
the  delicate  tone  of  the  water.  All  is  so  still !  I 
hear  a  bee  go  blundering  into  the  Bachelor's  But- 
tons that  hold  up  their  flowers  to  the  sun  like 
small,  compact  yellow  Roses.  Suddenly  comes  a 
gush  of  the  song-sparrow's  music,  but  father  mar- 
tin sits  at  his  door  very  quiet ;  it  is  too  hot  on  the 
red  roof  of  his  little  house,  so  he  sits  at  its  portal 
and  meditates  while  his  small  wife  broods  within, 
only  now  and  then  from  his  pretty  throat  pours  a 
low  ripple  of  sound,  melodiously  content.  I  am 
conscious  of  the  sandpiper  calling  and  the  full  tide 
murmuring,  and  I,  too,  am  content. 

Outside  the  garden  fence  it  is  as  if  the  flowers 
had  broken  their  bounds  and  were  rushing  down 
the  sloping  bank  in  a  torrent  of  yellow,  where  the 
early  Artemisias  and  Eschscholtzias  are  hastening 
into  bloom,  overflowing  in  a  flood  of  gold  that, 
lightly  stirred  by  every  breeze,  sends  a  satin  shim- 
mer to  the  sun.  Eschscholtzia  —  it  is  an  ugly  name 
for  a  most  lovely  flower.  California  Poppy  is 
much  better.  Down  into  the  sweet  plot  I  go  and 
gather  a  few  of  these,  bringing  them  to  my  little 
table  and  sitting  down  before  them  the  better  to 
admire  and  adore  their  beauty.  In  the  slender 
green  glass  in  which  I  put  them  they  stand 
clothed  in  their  delicate  splendor.  One  blossom 
I  take  in  a  loving  hand  the  more  closely  to  examine 
it,  and  it  breathes  a  glory  of  color  into  sense  and 
spirit  which  is  enough  to  kindle  the  dullest  imagi- 
nation. The  stems  and  fine  thread-like  leaves  are 


76  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

smooth  and  cool  gray-green,  as  if  to  temper  the 
fire  of  the  blossoms,  which  are  smooth  also,  un- 
like almost  all  other  Poppies,  that  are  crumpled 
past  endurance  in  their  close  green  buds,  and 
make  one  feel  as  if  they  could  not  wait  to  break 
out  of  the  calyx  and  loosen  their  petals  to  the 
sun,  to  be  soothed  into  even  tranquillity  of  beauty 
by  the  touches  of  the  air.  Every  cool  gray-green 
leaf  is  tipped  with  a  tiny  line  of  red,  every  flower- 
bud  wears  a  little  pale-green  pointed  cap  like  an 
elf,  and  in  the  early  morning,  when  the  bud  is 
ready  to  blow,  it  pushes  off  the  pretty  cap  and  un- 
folds all  its  loveliness  to  the  sun.  Nothing  could 
be  more  picturesque  than  this  fairy  cap,  and  no- 
thing more  charming  than  to  watch  the  blossom 
push  it  off  and  spread  its  yellow  petals,  slowly 
rounding  to  the  perfect  cup.  As  I  hold  the  flower 
in  my  hand  and  think  of  trying  to  describe  it,  I 
realize  how  poor  a  creature  I  am,  how  impotent 
are  words  in  the  presence  of  such  perfection.  It 
is  held  upright  upon  a  straight  and  polished 
stem,  its  petals  curving  upward  and  outward  into 
the  cup  of  light,  pure  gold  with  a  lustrous  satin 
sheen ;  a  rich  orange  is  painted  on  the  gold,  drawn 
in  infinitely  fine  lines  to  a  point  in  the  centre  of 
the  edge  of  each  petal,  so  that  the  effect  is  that 
of  a  diamond  of  flame  in  a  cup  of  gold.  It  is  not 
enough  that  the  powdery  anthers  are  orange  bor- 
dered with  gold ;  they  are  whirled  about  the  very 
heart  of  the  flower  like  a  revolving  Catherine- 
wheel  of  fire.  In  the  centre  of  the  anthers  is  a 
shining  point  of  warm  sea-green,  a  last,  consum- 
mate touch  which  makes  the  beauty  of  the  bios- 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  77 

som  supreme.  Another  has  the  orange  suffused 
through  the  gold  evenly,  almost  to  the  outer 
edges  of  the  petals,  which  are  left  in  bright,  light 
yellow  with  a  dazzling  effect.  Turning  the  flower 
and  looking  at  it  from  the  outside,  it  has  no  calyx, 
but  the  petals  spring  from  a  simple  pale-green 
disk,  which  must  needs  be  edged  with  sea-shell 
pink  for  the  glory  of  God !  The  fresh  splendor 
of  this  flower  no  tongue  nor  pen  nor  brush  of 
mortal  man  can  fitly  represent. 

Who  indeed  shall  adequately  describe  any  one, 
the  simplest  even,  of  these  radiant  beings?  Day 
after  day,  as  I  watch  them  appear,  one  variety 
after  another,  in  such  endless  changes  of  delicate 
beauty,  I  can  but  marvel  ever  more  and  more  at 
the  exhaustless  power  of  the  great  Inventor. 
Must  He  not  enjoy  the  work  of  His  hands,  the 
manifold  perfection  of  these  His  matchless  crea- 
tions ?  Who  can  behold  the  unfolding  of  each 
new  spring  and  all  its  blossoms  without  feeling 
the  renewal  of  "  God's  ancient  rapture,"  of  which 
Browning  speaks  in  "  Paracelsus  "  ?  In  that  im- 
mortal rapture,  I,  another  of  his  creatures,  less 
obedient  in  fulfilling  His  laws  of  beauty  than  are 
these  lovely  beings,  do  humbly  share,  reflecting  it 
with  all  the  powers  of  my  spirit  and  rejoicing  in 
His  work  with  an  exceeding  joy. 

As  the  days  go  on  toward  July,  the  earth  be- 
comes dry  and  all  the  flowers  begin  to  thirst  for 
moisture.  Then  from  the  hillside,  some  warm, 
still  evening,  the  sweet  rain-song  of  the  robin 
echoes  clear,  and  next  day  we  wake  to  a  dim 
morning ;  soft  flecks  of  cloud  bar  the  sun's  way, 


;8  AN   ISLAND  GARDEN 

fleecy  vapors  steal  across  the  sky,  the  southwest 
wind  blows  lightly,  rippling  the  water  into  little 
waves  that  murmur  melodiously  as  they  kiss  the 
shore.  In  this  warm  gray,  brooding  light  I  am 
reminded  of  Tennyson's  subtle  description  of 
such  a  daybreak :  — 

"  When  the  first  low  matin  chirp  hath  grown 
Full  quire,  and  morning  driven  her  plough  of  pearl 
Far  furrowing  into  light  the  mounded  rack, 
Beyond  the  fair  green  field  and  eastern  sea." 

Through  the  early  hours  of  the  day  the  mottled, 
pearly  clouds  keep  their  shape,  with  delicious 
open  spaces  of  tempered  blue  between ;  by  and 
by  the  sky's  tender  fleece  is  half  shadowed,  to- 
ward noon  it  melts  into  loose  mists.  Color  every- 
where tells  against  these  pellucid  grays,  —  the 
gold  of  Lemon  Lilies,  the  flame  of  Iceland  Poppies, 
all  the  sweet  tints  of  every  blossom.  Presently 
the  happy  rain  begins  to  fall,  so  soft,  so  warm,  so 
peaceful,  the  very  sound  of  it  is  a  pleasure ;  every 
leaf  in  the  patient  garden,  which  has  waited  for 
the  shower  so  long,  spreads  itself  wide  to  catch 
each  crystal  drop  and  treasure  its  deep  refreshment. 
All  day  it  rains ;  at  night  the  melody  lulls  us  to 
sleep  as  it  patters  on  the  roof.  In  the  night  the 
wind  changes,  and  next  day  brings  a  northeast 
storm  again  with  a  wild  wind,  but  from  this  the 
little  flower  plot  is  well  protected,  and  I  rejoice  in 
the  thorough  watering  deep  down  among  their 
roots  which  is  doing  all  the  plants  unmeasured 
good.  Two,  perhaps  three  days,  it  lasts,  the  gale 
blowing  till  there  is  such  contention  of  winds  and 
waves  about  the  little  isle  as  to  make  a  ceaseless 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  79 

roaring  of  wild  breakers  round  its  shores.  When 
at  last  the  tempest  wears  itself  out,  what  delight 
there  is  in  the  great  tranquillity  that  follows  it, 
what  music  in  the  soft,  far  murmurs  of  ceasing 
strife  in  air  and  ocean,  spent  wrath  that  seems  to 
breathe  yet  in  an  undertone,  half  sullen,  half  re- 
lenting, while  the  broad  yellow  light  that  lies  over 
sea  and  rocks  in  stillness,  like  a  quiet  smile, 
promises  a  heavenly  day  on  the  morrow. 

Then,  with  what  fresh  wealth  of  color  and  per- 
fume the  garden  will  meet  the  resplendent  sun- 
rise !  Every  moment  it  grows  more  and  more 
beautiful.  I  think  for  wondrous  variety,  for  cer- 
tain picturesque  qualities,  for  color  and  form 
and  a  subtle  mystery  of  character,  Poppies  seem, 
on  the  whole,  the  most  satisfactory  flowers  among 
the  annuals.  There  is  absolutely  no  limit  to  their 
variety  of  color.  They  are  the  tenderest  lilac,  the 
deepest  crimson,  richest  scarlet,  white  with  softest 
suffusion  of  rose ;  all  shades  of  rose,  clear  light 
pink  with  sea-green  centre,  the  anthers  in  a  golden 
halo  about  it ;  black  and  fire-color ;  red  that  is 
deepened  to  black,  with  gray  reflections ;  cherry- 
color,  with  a  cross  of  creamy  white  at  the  bottom 
of  the  cup,  and  round  its  central  altar  of  ineffable 
golden  green  again  the  halo  of  yellow  anthers; 
purple,  with  rich  splashes  of  a  deeper  shade  of  the 
same  color,  with  grayish  white  rays  about  the 
centre ;  all  shades  of  lavender  and  lilac ;  exqui- 
site smoke-color,  in  some  cases  delicately  touched 
and  freaked  with  red ;  some  pure  light  gray, 
some  of  these  gray  ones  edged  with  crimson  or 
scarlet ;  there  are  all  tints  of  mauve.  To  tell  all 


8o  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

the  combinations  of  their  wonderful  hues,  or  even 
half,  would  be  quite  impossible,  from  the  simple 
transparent  scarlet  bell  of  the  wild  Poppy  to  the 
marvelous  pure  white,  the  wonder  of  which  no 
tongue  can  tell.  Oh,  these  white  Poppies,  some 
with  petals  more  delicate  than  the  finest  tissue 
paper,  with  centres  of  bright  gold,  some  of  thicker 
quality,  large,  shell-like  petals,  almost  ribbed  in 
their  effect,  their  green  knob  in  the  middle  like  a 
boss  upon  a  shield,  rayed  about  with  beautiful 
grayish  yellow  stamens,  as  in  the  kind  called  the 
Bride.  Others  —  they  call  this  kind  the  Snowdrift 
— have  thick  double  flowers,  deeply  cut  and  fringed 
at  the  edges,  the  most  opaque  white,  and  full  of 
exquisite  shadows.  Then  there  are  the  Iceland- 
ers, which  Lieutenant  Peary  found  making  gay 
the  frosty  fields  of  Greenland,  in  buttercup-yel- 
low and  orange  and  white;  the  great  Orientals, 
gorgeous  beyond  expression ;  the  immense  single 
white  California  variety.  I  could  not  begin  to 
name  them  all  in  the  longest  summer's  day !  The 
Thorn  Poppy,  Argemone,  is  a  fascinating  variety, 
most  quaint  in  method  of  growth  and  most  dec- 
orative. As  for  the  Shirleys,  they  are  children 
of  the  dawn,  and  inherit  all  its  delicate,  vivid, 
delicious  suffusions  of  rose-color  in  every  con- 
ceivable shade.  Of  the  Poppy  one  of  the  great 
masters  of  English  prose  discourses  in  this  wise. 
Speaking  of  the  common  wild  Poppy  of  the  Eng- 
lish fields,  which  grows  broadcast  also  over  most 
of  Europe,  he  says :  "  The  splendor  of  it  is  proud, 
almost  insolently  so,"  which  immediately  brings  to 
mind  Browning's  lines  in  "  Sordello,"  — 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  8l 

"  The  Poppy's  red  effrontery, 
Till  autumn  spoils  its  fleering  quite  with  rain, 
And  portionless,  a  dry,  brown,  rattling  crane 
Protrudes." 

Papaver  Rhoeas  is  the  common  wild  scarlet  Poppy 
that  both  these  writers  describe.  John  Ruskin 
says :  "  I  have  in  my  hand  a  small  red  Poppy 
which  I  gathered  on  Whit  Sunday  in  the  palace 
of  the  Caesars.  It  is  an  intensely  simple,  in- 
tensely floral  flower.  All  silk  and  flame,  a  scarlet 
cup,  perfect  edged  all  round,  seen  among  the  wild 
grass  far  away  like  a  burning  coal  fallen  from 
Heaven's  altars.  You  cannot  have  a  more  com- 
plete, a  more  stainless  type  of  flower  absolute  ;  in- 
side and  outside,  all  flower.  No  sparing  of  color 
anywhere,  no  outside  coarsenesses,  no  interior 
secrecies,  open  as  the  sunshine  that  creates  it; 
fine  finished  on  both  sides,  down  to  the  extremest 
point  of  insertion  on  its  narrow  stalk,  and  robed 
in  the  purple  of  the  Caesars.  .  .  . 

"  Literally  so.  That  Poppy  scarlet,  so  far  as 
could  be  painted  by  mortal  hand,  for  mortal  king, 
stays  yet,  against  the  sun  and  wind  and  rain,  on 
the  walls  of  the  house  of  Augustus,  a  hundred 
yards  from  the  spot  where  I  gathered  the  weed 
of  its  desolation.  .  .  .  The  flower  in  my  hand  is 
a  poverty  stricken  Poppy,  I  was  going  to  write, 
poverty  strengthened  Poppy,  I  mean.  On  richer 
ground  it  would  have  gushed  into  flaunting 
breadth  of  untenable  purple;  flapped  its  incon- 
sistent scarlet  vaguely  to  the  wind  ;  dropped  the 
pride  of  its  petals  over  my  hand  in  an  hour  after  I 
gathered  it.  But  this  little  rough-bred  thing  .  .  . 


82  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

is  as  bright  and  strong  to-day  as  yesterday.  .  .  . 
What  outline  its  petals  really  have  is  little  shown 
in  their  crumpled  fluttering,  but  that  very  crum- 
pling arises  from  a  fine  floral  character  which 
we  do  not  enough  value  in  them.  We  usually 
think  of  a  Poppy  as  a  coarse  flower ;  but  it  is  the 
most  transparent  and  delicate  of  all  the  blossoms 
of  the  field.  The  rest,  nearly  all  of  them,  de- 
pend on  the  texture  of  their  surfaces  for  color. 
But  the  Poppy  is  painted  glass;  it  never  glows 
so  brightly  as  when  the  sun  shines  through  it. 
Wherever  it  is  seen,  against  the  light  or  with  the 
light,  always  it  is  a  flame,  and  warms  the  wind 
like  a  blown  ruby.  .  .  .  Gather  a  green  Poppy 
bud,  just  when  it  shows  the  scarlet  line  at  its  side, 
break  it  open  and  unpack  the  Poppy.  The  whole 
flower  is  there  complete  in  size  and  color,  its 
stamens  full  grown,  but  all  packed  so  closely  that 
the  fine  silk  of  the  petals  is  crushed  into  a  million 
of  wrinkles.  When  the  flower  opens,  it  seems  a 
relief  from  torture;  the  two  imprisoning  green 
leaves  are  shaken  to  the  ground,  the  aggrieved 
corolla  smooths  itself  in  the  sun  and  comforts  it- 
self as  best  it  can,  but  remains  crushed  and  hurt 
to  the  end  of  its  days." 

I  know  of  no  flower  that  has  so  many  charm- 
ing tricks  and  manners,  none  with  a  method  of 
growth  more  picturesque  and  fascinating.  The 
stalks  often  take  a  curve,  a  twist  from  some  cur- 
rent of  air  or  some  impediment,  and  the  fine 
stems  will  turn  and  bend  in  all  sorts  of  graceful 
ways,  but  the  bud  is  always  held  erect  when  the 
time  comes  for  it  to  blossom.  Ruskin  quotes 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  83 

Lindley's  definition  of  what  constitutes  a  Poppy, 
which  he  thinks  "  might  stand."  This  is  it :  "  A 
Poppy  is  a  flower  which  has  either  four  or  six 
petals,  and  two  or  more  treasuries  united  in  one, 
containing  a  milky,  stupefying  fluid  in  its  stalks 
and  leaves,  and  always  throwing  away  its  calyx 
when  it  blossoms." 

I  muse  over  their  seed-pods,  those  supremely 
graceful  urns  that  are  wrought  with  such  match- 
less elegance  of  shape,  and  think  what  strange 
power  they  hold  within.  Sleep  is  there,  and 
Death  his  brother,  imprisoned  in  those  mystic 
sealed  cups.  There  is  a  hint  of  their  mystery  in 
their  shape  of  sombre  beauty,  but  never  a  sug- 
gestion in  the  fluttering  blossom ;  it  is  the  gayest 
flower  that  blows.  In  the  more  delicate  varieties 
the  stalks  are  so  slender,  yet  so  strong,  like  fine 
grass  stems,  when  you  examine  them  you  won- 
der how  they  hold  even  the  light  weight  of  the 
flower  so  firmly  and  proudly  erect.  They  are 
clothed  with  the  finest  of  fine  hairs  up  and  down 
the  stalks,  and  over  the  green  calyx,  especially 
in  the  Iceland  varieties,  where  these  hairs  are  of 
a  lovely  red-brown  color  and  add  much  to  their 
beauty. 

It  is  plain  to  see,  as  one  gazes  over  the  Poppy 
beds  on  some  sweet  evening  at  sunset,  what  buds 
will  bloom  in  the  joy  of  next  morning's  first 
sunbeams,  for  these  will  be  lifting  themselves 
heavenward,  slowly  and  silently,  but  surely.  To 
stand  by  the  beds  at  sunrise  and  see  the  flowers 
awake  is  a  heavenly  delight.  As  the  first  long, 
low  rays  of  the  sun  strike  the  buds,  you  know 


84  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

they  feel  the  signal!  A  light  air  stirs  among 
them ;  you  lift  your  eyes,  perhaps  to  look  at  a 
rosy  cloud  or  follow  the  flight  of  a  caroling  bird, 
and  when  you  look  back  again,  lo !  the  calyx  has 
fallen  from  the  largest  bud  and  lies  on  the 
ground,  two  half  transparent,  light  green  shells, 
leaving  the  flower  petals  wrinkled  in  a  thousand 
folds,  just  released  from  their  close  pressure.  A 
moment  more  and  they  are  unclosing  before  your 
eyes.  They  flutter  out  on  the  gentle  breeze  like 
silken  banners  to  the  sun,  and  such  a  color ! 
The  orange  of  the  Iceland  Poppy  is  the  most 
ineffable  color ;  it  "  warms  the  wind  "  indeed !  I 
know  no  tint  like  it;  it  is  orange  dashed  with 
carmine,  most  like  the  reddest  coals  of  an  in- 
tensely burning  fire.  Look  at  this  exquisite 
cup :  the  wind  has  blown  nearly  smooth  the 
crinkled  petals  ;  these,  where  they  meet  in  the 
centre,  melt  into  a  delicate  greenish  yellow.  In 
the  heart  of  the  blossom  rises  a  round  green 
altar,  its  sides  penciled  with  nine  black  lines, 
and  a  nine-rayed  star  of  yellow  velvet  clasps  the 
flat,  pure  green  top.  From  the  base  of  this  altar 
springs  the  wreath  of  stamens  and  anthers ;  the 
inner  circle  of  these  is  generally  white,  the  outer 
yellow,  and  all  held  high  and  clear  within  the 
cup.  The  radiant  effect  of  this  arrangement 
against  the  living  red  cannot  be  told. 

The  Californias  put  out  their  clean,  polished, 
pointed  buds  straight  up  to  the  sun  from  the 
first,  but  all  the  others  have  this  fashion  of  droop- 
ing theirs  till  the  evening  before  they  blow. 
There  is  a  kind  of  triumph  in  the  way  they  do 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  85 

this,  lifting  their  treasured  splendor  yet  safe 
within  its  clasping  calyx  to  be  ready  to  meet  the 
first  beams  of  the  day. 

The  Orientals  are  glorious,  even  in  the  vic- 
torious family  of  Poppies.  Ruskin  has  a  chapter 
on  "  The  Rending  of  Leaves."  I  always  think  of 
it  when  I  see  the  large,  hairy,  rich  green  leaves 
of  this  variety,  which  are  deeply  "  rent,"  almost 
the  whole  width  of  the  leaf  to  the  midrib.  These 
leaves  grow  somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  a  Dan- 
delion, spreading  several  feet  in  all  directions 
from  the  centre,  which  sends  up  in  June  immense 
flower-stalks  crowned  with  heavy  apple-like  buds, 
that  elongate  as  they  increase  in  size,  till  some 
morning  the  thick  calyx  breaks  and  falls,  and  the 
great  scarlet  flags  of  the  flower  unfold.  There 
is  a  kind  of  angry  brilliance  about  it,  a  sombre 
and  startling  magnificence.  Its  large  petals  are 
splashed  near  the  base  with  broad,  irregular  spots 
of  black-purple,  as  if  they  had  been  struck  with  a 
brush  full  of  color.  The  seed-pod,  rising  fully  an 
inch  high  in  the  centre,  is  of  a  luminous,  inde- 
scribable shade  of  green,  and  folded  over  its  top, 
a  third  of  its  height,  is  a  cap  of  rich  lavender, 
laid  down  in  points  evenly  about  the  crown.  On 
the  centre  of  this  is  a  little  knob  of  deep  purple 
velvet,  from  which  eleven  rays  of  the  same  color 
curve  over  the  top  and  into  each  point  of  the 
lavender  cap.  And  round  this  wonderful  seed- 
pod,  with  its  wealth  of  elaborate  ornament,  is  a 
thick  girdle  of  stamens  half  an  inch  deep,  with 
row  upon  row  and  circle  within  circle  of  anthers 
covered  with  dust  of  splendid  dusky  purple,  and 


86  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

held  each  upon  a  slender  thread  of  deeper  purple 
still.  It  is  simply  superb,  and  when  the  great 
bush  is  ablaze  with  these  flowers  it  is  indeed  a 
conflagration  of  color.  "  The  fire-engines  always 
turn  out  when  my  Orientals  blaze  up  on  the  hill- 
side," writes  a  flower-loving  friend  to  me.  No 
garden  should  be  without  these,  for  they  flourish 
with  the  least  care,  are  perfectly  hardy,  and  never 
fail  to  blossom  generously. 


[HAT  every  plant  should  select  only  its 
own  colors  and  forms  from  the  great 
laboratory  of  Nature  has  always  seemed 
to  me  a  very  wonderful  thing.  Each 
plant  takes  from  its  surroundings  just 
those  qualities  which  will  produce  its  own  especial 
characteristics  and  no  others,  never  hesitating  and 
never  making  a  mistake.  For  instance,  the  Califor- 
nia Poppies,  if  left  to  themselves,  will  take  yellow  of 
many  resplendent  shades  for  their  color,  and  never 
vary  their  cool,  gray-green,  red-tipped  foliage ;  the 
Peacock  Poppy  will  be  always  scarlet- crimson, 
with  a  black  spot  rimmed  with  white  in  every 
petal ;  the  Corn  Poppy  will  be  always  clear  scar- 
let ;  the  Bride  a  miracle  of  lustrous  white,  and 
so  on.  Runge,  a  noted  chemist,  says :  "  A  plant 
is  a  great  chemist :  it  distinguishes  and  separates 
substances  more  definitely  and  accurately  than 
man  can,  with  all  his  skill,  his  intelligence,  and 
87 


88  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

his  appliances.  .  .  .  The  little  Daisy,  which  has 
painted  its  '  wee  crimson-tipped  flowers,'  puts  the 
chemist  and  scientific  man  to  shame,  for  it  has  pro- 
duced its  leaf  and  stem  and  flowers,  and  has  dyed 
these  with  their  bright  colors  from  materials  which 
he  can  never  change  with  all  his  arts." 

By  what  power  do  they  know  how  to  select 
each  its  own  hue  and  shape,  when  earth  and  air 
hold  all  the  tints  and  forms  that  the  Creator  has 
invented?  The  subtle  knowledge  of  plants,  in- 
stinct perhaps  would  be  a  better  word,  is  astonish- 
ing. If  you  dig  a  hole  in  the  ground  and  put 
into  it  a  Rosebush,  filling  one  side  of  the  hole 
with  rich  earth  and  the  other  with  poor  soil, 
every  root  of  that  Rosebush  will  leave  the  poor 
half  to  inhabit  the  rich  and  nourishing  portion. 
That  is  a  matter  of  course,  but  the  instinct  of  the 
Rose  is  something  to  think  about,  nevertheless. 

Some  one  has  said,  speaking  of  a  tree,  "  What 
an  immense  amount  of  vitally  organized  material 
has  been  here  gathered  together!  It  is  God's 
own  architecture !  This  mass  of  vegetable  mat- 
ter is  only  earth  and  air  that  have  undergone 
transmutation.  The  material  alike  of  wandering 
zephyrs  and  rushing  storms,  of  gently  descend- 
ing night-dews  and  angry  thunder-showers  has 
been  here,  on  this  spot,  metamorphosed." 

And  I  should  add  that  into  this  piece  of  archi- 
tecture God  has  breathed  a  vital  spark,  almost  a 
mind,  so  remarkable  is  the  intelligent  action  often 
manifested  in  many  plants  and  trees. 

A  famous  Frenchman,  Camille  Flammarion, 
says :  "  I  know  a  maple-tree  which  was  dying  on 
the  ruins  of  an  old  wall,  a  few  feet  from  good  rich 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  89 

earth  (the  soil  in  a  ditch),  and  which  in  despair 
threw  out  a  venturesome  root,  reached  the  cov- 
eted earth,  buried  itself  there,  and  gained  a  solid 
footing,  so  that  by  degrees,  although  a  motionless 
thing,  it  changed  its  place,  let  its  original  roots 
die,  and  lived  resuscitated  upon  the  organ  that 
had  set  it  free.  I  have  known  elms  which  were 
going  to  eat  up  the  soil  of  a  fertile  field,  whose 
food  had  been  cut  off  from  them  by  a  wide  ditch, 
and  who,  therefore,  determined  to  make  their 
uncut  roots  pass  under  the  ditch.  They  suc- 
ceeded, and  returned  to  their  regular  food,  much 
to  the  cultivator's  astonishment.  I  know  an 
heroic  Jasmine  which  went  eight  times  through  a 
board  which  kept  the  light  away  from  it,  and 
which  a  teasing  observer  would  put  back  in  the 
shade,  hoping  so  to  wear  out  the  flower's  energy, 
but  he  did  not  succeed." 

This  happened  in  France,  but  here  in  New 
England  I  myself  know  of  a  great  Wistaria 
which  grew  over  one  side  of  a  fine  old  house  in 
an  enchanting  garden,  and  which  did  something 
quite  as  wonderful.  It  was  a  triumph  of  a  vine ! 
The  butt  or  stump,  where  it  emerged  from  the 
ground,  was  a  foot  in  diameter,  and  its  branches 
covered  one  side  of  the  house,  a  space  of  thirty 
feet  by  thirty  feet.  So  large  a  vine  required  a 
great  deal  of  water,  so  it  sent  its  roots  down  eight 
feet  under  the  foundation  of  the  house,  passed 
along  under  the  brick  floor  of  the  dairy,  a  distance 
of  fifteen  feet,  making  a  solid  mat  of  roots  under 
the  whole  floor,  reached  the  well  and  went  straight 
through  the  cracks  and  crevices  of  its  stone  wall 
to  the  desired  moisture.  An  elm  root  in  the  same 


90  AN   ISLAND   GARDEN 

garden  went  sixty  feet  or  more  under  the  founda- 
tion of  the  house  to  that  same  well. 

To  quote  another  writer  who  has  carefully  ob- 
served these  things :  "  Plants  have  to  the  full 
extent  of  their  necessities  a  power  of  observation, 
of  discrimination  in  the  selection  of  their  food,  a 
knowledge  of  where  it  is  to  be  found,  and  the 
power  to  a  considerable  extent  to  obtain  it.  For 
instance,  if  some  animal's  remains  are  buried  in 
the  garden,  say  twenty  feet  from  the  grapevine, 
the  vine  will  know  it,  and  the  underground  part 
of  the  vine  will  at  once  change  its  course  and 
make  a  direct  march  for  this  new  storehouse  of 
food,  and  upon  reaching  it  will  throw  out  an  in- 
credible number  of  roots  for  its  consumption. 
...  A  weeping  willow  was  planted  in  a  dry, 
gravelly  soil  on  the  south  side  of  a  house,  a 
situation  in  every  respect  unsuited  to  this  tree, 
which  delights  in  a  heavy  moist  soil ;  the  result 
was  a  slow,  stunted  growth.  After  a  few  years  in 
which  it  barely  lived,  it  surprised  its  owner  by  a 
vigorous  growth  which  was  as  astonishing  as 
pleasing,  and  the  cause  was  looked  for.  It  was 
found  the  roots  in  search  of  food  had  traveled 
under  the  house  a  distance  of  some  thirty  feet  to 
the  well,  where  they  took  a  downward  course  till 
they  reached  the  water  that  furnished  the  mois- 
ture which  is  essential  to  the  growth  of  this  tree. 

"The  movements  of  the  squash  vine  when 
pressed  by  hunger  or  thirst  are  truly  wonderful. 
During  a  severe  drought  if  you  place  a  basin  of 
water  at  night,  say  two  feet  to  the  left  or  the 
right  of  a  strong  vine,  in  the  morning  it  will  be 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  91 

found  bathing  in  the  basin !  Is  not  this  an  indi- 
cation of  thought  in  the  vine  ?  Does  it  not  indi- 
cate a  knowledge  in  the  vine  analogous  to  human 
understanding?  .  .  .  There  must  be  some  agent 
employed  to  bring  the  vine  to  the  fountain.  .  .  . 

"  The  more  we  study  plant  life  the  more  we  be- 
come convinced  that  life  is  a  unit,  varying  in  form 
only,  not  in  principle.  Everything  capable  of  re- 
production, growth,  and  development  is  governed 
by  the  same  law,  and  each  is  but  a  part  of  the  unit 
we  term  life." 

Again  to  quote  the  famous  Frenchman :  "  When 
I  breathe  the  perfume  of  a  Rose,"  he  says,  "  when 
I  admire  the  beauty  of  form,  the  grace  of  this 
flower  in  its  freshly  opening  bloom,  what  strikes 
me  most  is  the  work  of  that  hidden,  unknown, 
mysterious  force  which  rules  over  the  plant's  life 
and  can  direct  it  in  the  maintenance  of  its  exist- 
ence, which  chooses  the  proper  molecules  of  air, 
water,  and  earth  for  its  nourishment,  and  which 
knows,  above  all,  how  to  assimilate  these  molecules 
and  group  them  so  delicately  as  to  form  this 
graceful  stem,  these  dainty  green  leaves,  these 
soft  pink  petals,  these  exquisite  tints  and  delicious 
fragrance.  .  .  . 

"  This  mysterious  force  is  the  animating  princi- 
ple of  the  plant.  Put  a  Lily  seed,  an  acorn,  a  grain 
of  wheat,  and  a  peach-stone  side  by  side  in  the 
ground,  each  germ  will  build  up  its  own  organism 
and  no  other.  .  .  . 

"  A  plant  breathes,  drinks,  eats,  selects,  refuses, 
seeks,  works,  lives,  acts,  according  to  its  instincts. 
One  does  like  a  charm,  another  pines,  a  third  is 


92  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

nervous  and  agitated.    The  Sensitive  Plant  shivers 
and  droops  its  leaves  at  the  slightest  touch." 

Climbing  plants  show  often  a  surprising  degree 
of  intelligence,  reaching  out  for  support  as  if  they 
had  eyes  to  see.  I  have  known  a  vine  whose  head 
was  aimlessly  waving  in  the  wind,  with  nothing 
near  it  to  which  it  might  cling,  turn  deliberately 
round  in  an  opposite  direction  to  that  in  which  it 
had  been  growing  and  seize  a  line  I  had  stretched 
for  it  to  grasp,  without  any  help  outside  itself,  and 
within  the  space  of  an  hour's  time.  By  manifold 
ways  they  cling  and  climb,  many  by  winding  their 
stems  round  and  round  strings  or  sticks  or  wires, 
or  whatever  is  given  them,  as  do  the  Morning- 
glories,  Hop,  Honeysuckle,  Wistarias,  and  many 
others ;  but  Sweet  Peas,  Cobcea,  and  so  forth,  put 
out  a  delicate  tendril  at  the  end  of  each  leaf,  or 
rather  group  of  leaves.  Nasturtiums,  Clematis, 
and  others  take  a  turn  with  their  leaf-stems  round 
anything  that  comes  in  their  way,  and  so  lift  and 
hold  themselves  securely,  and  the  Echinocystus  or 
Wild  Cucumber  has  a  system  of  tendrils  strong 
as  iron  and  elastic  as  India-rubber.  It  is  most  in- 
teresting to  observe  them  all  and  ponder  on  their 
different  charming  ways  and  habits,  to  help  them 
if  they  need  it,  and  to  sympathize  with  all  their 
experiences.  As  I  work  among  my  flowers,  I 
find  myself  talking  to  them,  reasoning  and  remon- 
strating with  them,  and  adoring  them  as  if  they 
were  human  beings.  Much  laughter  I  provoke 
among  my  friends  by  so  doing,  but  that  is  of  no 
consequence.  We  are  on  such  good  terms,  my 
flowers  and  1 1 


AN   ISLAND   GARDEN  93 

Altogether  lovely  they  are  out  of  doors,  but 
I  plant  and  tend  them  always  with  the  thought 
of  the  joy  they  will  be  within  the  house  also.  I 
know  well  what  Emerson  means  when  he  asks, 

"  Hast  thou  named  all  the  birds  without  a  gun  ? 
Loved  the  wood  Rose  and  left  it  on  its  stalk  ? " 

and  if  I  gather  this  or  any  other  wild-flower  I  do 
it  with  such  reverent  love  that  even  he  would  be 
satisfied.  No  one  knows  better  and  deplores 
more  deeply  than  I  the  wholesale  destruction, 
wanton  and  cruel,  which  goes  on  among  our  wild- 
flowers  every  year;  but  to  bring  a  few  indoors  for 
purposes  of  study  and  fuller  appreciation  is  an- 
other and  a  desirable  thing.  For  the  wild  Rose 
is  but  partially  learned  when  one  pauses  a  mo- 
ment in  passing  to  admire  the  sweet  surprise  of 
its  beauty  as  it  suddenly  smiles  up  from  the  road- 
side. It  cannot  be  learned  in  a  single  glance, 
nor,  indeed,  in  many  glances :  it  must  be  carefully 
considered  and  lovingly  meditated  upon  before 
it  yields  all  the  marvel  of  its  delicate  glory  to 
your  intelligence.  "  Consider  the  Lilies,"  said  the 
Master.  Truly,  there  is  no  more  prayerful  busi- 
ness than  this  "  consideration  "  of  all  the  flowers 
that  grow. 

And  in  the  garden  they  are  planted  especially 
to  feast  the  souls  that  hunger  for  beauty,  and 
within  doors  as  well  as  without  they  "  delight  the 
spirit  of  man."  Opening  out  on  the  long  piazza 
over  the  flower  beds,  and  extending  almost  its 
whole  length,  runs  the  large,  light,  airy  room 
where  a  group  of  happy  people  gather  to  pass  the 


94  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

swiftly  flying  summers  here  at  the  Isles  of  Shoals. 
This  room  is  made  first  for  music ;  on  the  polished 
floor  is  no  carpet  to  mufBe  sound,  only  a  few  rugs 
here  and  there,  like  patches  of  warm  green  moss 
on  the  pine-needle  color  given  by  the  polish  to 
the  natural  hue  of  the  wood.  There  are  no  heavy 
draperies  to  muffle  the  windows,  nothing  to  ab- 
sorb the  sound.  The  piano  stands  midway  at 
one  side;  there  are  couches,  sofas  with  pillows 
of  many  shades  of  dull,  rich  color,  but  mostly  of 
warm  shades  of  green.  There  are  low  bookcases 
round  the  walls,  the  books  screened  by  short  cur- 
tains of  pleasant  olive-green ;  the  high  walls  to 
the  ceiling  are  covered  with  pictures,  and  flowers 
are  everywhere.  The  shelves  of  the  tall  mantel 
are  splendid  with  massed  Nasturtiums  like  a  blaz- 
ing torch,  beginning  with  the  palest  yellow,  almost 
white,  and  piled  through  every  deepening  shade 
of  gold,  orange,  scarlet,  crimson,  to  the  blackest 
red ;  all  along  the  tops  of  the  low  bookcases  burn 
the  fires  of  Marigolds,  Coreopsis,  large  flowers  of 
the  velvet  single  Dahlias  in  yellow,  flame,  and 
scarlet  of  many  shades,  masses  of  pure  gold  sum- 
mer Chrysanthemums,  and  many  more,  —  all  here 
and  there  interspersed  with  blossoming  grasses 
for  a  touch  of  ethereal  green.  On  one  low  book- 
case are  Shirley  Poppies  in  a  roseate  cloud.  And 
here  let  me  say  that  the  secret  of  keeping  Poppies 
in  the  house  two  whole  days  without  fading  is 
this :  they  must  be  gathered  early,  before  the  dew 
has  dried,  in  the  morning.  I  go  forth  between 
five  and  six  o'clock  to  cut  them  while  yet  their 
gray-green  leaves  are  hoary  with  dew,  taking  a  tall 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  95 

slender  pitcher  or  bottle  of  water  with  me  into 
the  garden,  and  as  I  cut  each  stem  dropping  the 
flower  at  once  into  it,  so  that  the  stem  is  covered 
nearly  its  whole  length  with  water ;  and  so  on  till 
the  pitcher  is  full.  Gathered  in  this  way,  they 
have  no  opportunity  to  lose  their  freshness,  in- 
deed, the  exquisite  creatures  hardly  know  they 
have  been  gathered  at  all.  When  I  have  all  I 
need,  I  begin  on  the  left  end  of  this  bookcase, 
which  most  felicitously  fronts  the  light,  and  into 
the  glasses  put  the  radiant  blossoms  with  an 
infinite  enjoyment  of  the  work.  The  glasses 
(thirty-two  in  all)  themselves  are  beautiful :  nearly 
all  are  white,  clear  and  pure,  with  a  few  pale 
green  and  paler  rose  and  delicate  blue,  one  or  two 
of  richer  pink,  all  brilliantly  clear  and  filled  with 
absolutely  colorless  water,  through  which  the  stems 
show  their  slender  green  lengths.  Into  the 
glasses  at  this  end  on  the  left  I  put  first  the  daz- 
zling white  single  Poppy,  the  Bride,  to  lead  the 
sweet  procession,  —  a  marvelous  blossom,  whose 
pure  white  is  half  transparent,  with  its  central 
altar  of  ineffable  green  and  gold.  A  few  of  these 
first,  then  a  dozen  or  more  of  delicate  tissue-paper- 
like  blossoms  of  snow  in  still  another  variety 
(with  petals  so  thin  that  a  bright  color  behind 
them  shows  through  their  filmy  texture) ;  then  the 
double  kind  called  Snowdrift,  which  being  double 
makes  a  deeper  body  of  whiteness  flecked  with 
softest  shadow.  Then  I  begin  with  the  palest 
rose  tints,  placing  them  next,  and  slightly  min- 
gling a  few  with  the  last  white  ones,  —  a  rose  tint 
delicate  as  the  palm  of  a  baby's  hand;  then  the 


96  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

next,  with  a  faint  suffusion  of  a  blush,  and  go  on 
to  the  next  shade,  still  very  delicate,  not  deeper 
than  the  soft  hue  on  the  lips  of  the  great  whelk 
shells  in  southern  seas;  then  the  damask  rose 
color  and  all  tints  of  tender  pink,  then  the  deeper 
tones  to  clear,  rich  cherry,  and  on  to  glowing 
crimson,  through  a  mass  of  this  to  burning 
maroon. 

The  flowers  are  of  all  heights  (the  stems  of 
different  lengths),  and,  though  massed,  are  in 
broken  and  irregular  ranks,  the  tallest  standing 
a  little  over  two  feet  high.  But  there  is  no  crush- 
ing or  crowding.  Each  individual  has  room  to 
display  its  full  perfection.  The  color  gathers, 
softly  flushing  from  the  snow  white  at  one  end, 
through  all  rose,  pink,  cherry,  and  crimson  shades, 
to  the  note  of  darkest  red ;  the  long  stems  of  ten- 
der green  showing  through  the  clear  glass,  the 
radiant  tempered  gold  of  each  flower  illuminating 
the  whole.  Here  and  there  a  few  leaves,  stalks, 
and  buds  (if  I  can  bring  my  mind  to  the  cutting 
of  these  last)  are  sparingly  interspersed  at  the 
back.  The  effect  of  this  arrangement  is  perfectly 
beautiful.  It  is  simply  indescribable,  and  I  have 
seen  people  stand  before  it  mute  with  delight.  It 
is  like  the  rose  of  dawn. 

To  the  left  of  this  altar  of  flowers  is  a  little 
table,  upon  which  a  picture  stands  and  leans 
against  the  wall  at  the  back.  In  the  picture  two 
Tea  Roses  long  since  faded  live  yet  in  their  ex- 
quisite hues,  never  indeed  to  die.  Before  this  I 
keep  always  a  few  of  the  fairest  flowers,  and  call 
this  table  the  shrine.  Sometimes  it  is  a  spray  of 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  97 

Madonna  Lilies  in  a  long  white  vase  of  ground 
glass,  or  beneath  the  picture  in  a  jar  of  yellow 
glass  floats  a  saffron-tinted  Water  Lily,  the  Chro- 
matella,  or  a  tall  sapphire  glass  holds  deep  blue 
Larkspurs  of  the  same  shade,  or  in  a  red  Bohe- 
mian glass  vase  are  a  few  carmine  Sweet  Peas, 
another  harmony  of  color,  or  a  charming  dull  red 
Japanese  jar  holds  a  few  Nasturtiums  that  exactly 
repeat  its  hues.  The  lovely  combinations  and  con- 
trasts of  flowers  and  vases  are  simply  endless. 

On  another  small  table  below  the  "  altar "  are 
pink  Water  Lilies  in  pink  glasses  and  white  ones 
in  white  glasses  ;  a  low  basket  of  amber  glass  is 
filled  with  the  pale  turquoise  of  Forget-me-nots, 
the  glass  is  iridescent  and  gleams  with  changing 
reflections,  taking  tints  from  every  color  near  it. 
Sweet  Peas  are  everywhere  about  and  fill  the  air 
with  fragrance  ;  orange  and  yellow  Iceland  Pop- 
pies are  in  tall  vases  of  English  glass  of  light 
green.  There  is  a  large,  low  bowl,  celadon-tinted, 
and  decorated  with  the  boughs  and  fruit  of  the 
Olive  on  the  gray -green  background.  This  is 
filled  with  magnificent  Jacqueminot  Roses,  so 
large,  so  deep  in  color  as  to  fully  merit  the  word. 
Sometimes  they  are  mixed  with  pink  Gabrielle 
de  Luizets  and  old-fashioned  Damask  Roses,  and 
the  bowl  is  set  where  the  light  falls  just  as  it 
should  to  give  the  splendor  of  the  flowers  its  full 
effect.  In  the  centre  of  a  round  table  under  one 
of  the  chandeliers  is  a  flaring  Venice  glass  as  pure 
as  a  drop  of  dew  and  of  a  quaintly  lovely  shape ; 
on  the  crystal  water  therein  lies  a  single  white 
Water  Lily,  fragrant  snow  and  gold.  By  itself  is 


98  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

a  low  vase  shaped  like  a  Magnolia  flower,  with 
petals  of  light  yellow  deepening  in  color  at  the 
bottom,  where  its  calyx  of  olive-green  leaves  clasps 
the  flower.  This  has  looking  over  its  edge  a  few 
pale  yellow  Nasturtiums  of  the  Asa  Gray  variety, 
the  lightest  of  all.  With  these,  one  or  two  of  a 
richer  yellow  (Dunnett's  Orange),  the  flowers  re- 
peating the  tones  of  the  vase,  and  with  them 
harmoniously  blending.  A  large  pearly  shell  of 
the  whelk  tribe  was  given  me  years  ago.  I  did 
not  know  what  to  do  with  it.  I  do  not  like  flowers 
in  shells  as  a  rule,  and  I  think  the  shells  are  best 
on  the  beach  where  they  belong,  but  I  was  fond 
of  the  giver,  so  I  sought  some  way  of  utilizing  the 
gift.  In  itself  it  was  beautiful,  a  mass  of  glim- 
mering rainbows.  I  bored  three  holes  in  its  edge 
and  suspended  it  from  one  of  the  severely  simple 
chandeliers  with  almost  invisible  wires.  I  keep 
it  filled  with  water  and  in  it  arrange  sometimes 
clusters  of  monthly  Honeysuckle  sparingly;  the 
hues  of  the  flowers  and  the  shell  mingle  and-  blend 
divinely.  I  get  the  same  effect  with  Hydrangea 
flowers,  tints  and  tones  all  melt  together ;  so  also 
with  the  most  delicate  Sweet  Peas,  white,  rose,  and 
lilac;  with  these  I  take  some  lengths  of  the 
blossoming  Wild  Cucumber  vine  with  its  light 
clusters  of  white  flowers,  or  the  white  Clematis, 
the  kind  called  "  Traveler's  Joy,"  and  weave  it 
lightly  about  the  shell,  letting  it  creep  over  one 
side  and,  running  up  the  wires,  entirely  conceal 
them ;  then  it  is  like  a  heavenly  apparition  afloat 
in  mid  air.  Sometimes  the  tender  mauve  and 
soft  rose  and  delicate  blues  of  the  exquisite  little 


AN   ISLAND  GARDEN  99 

Rose  Campion,  or  Rose  of  Heaven,  with  its  grassy 
foliage,  swing  in  this  rainbow  shell,  making  an- 
other harmony  of  hues. 

Sometimes  it  is  draped  with  wild  Morning- 
glory  vines  which  are  gathered  with  their  buds 
at  evening ;  their  long  wiry  stems  I  coil  in  the 
water,  and  arrange  the  graceful  lengths  of  leaves 
and  buds  carefully,  letting  a  few  droop  over  the 
edge  and  twine  together  beneath  the  shell,  and 
some  run  up  to  the  chandelier  and  conceal  the 
wires.  The  long  smooth  buds,  yellow-white  like 
ivory,  deepen  to  a  touch  of  bright  rose  at  the  tips 
close  folded.  In  the  morning  all  the  buds  open 
into  fair  trumpets  of  sea -shell  pink,  turning  to 
every  point  of  the  compass,  an  exquisite  sight  to 
see.  By  changing  the  water  daily  these  vines 
last  a  week,  fresh  buds  maturing  and  blossoming 
every  morning. 

Near  my  own  seat  in  a  sofa  corner  at  one  of 
the  south  windows  stands  yet  another  small  table, 
covered  with  a  snow-white  linen  cloth  embroid- 
ered in  silk  as  white  and  lustrous  as  silver.  On 
this  are  gathered  every  day  all  the  rarest  and 
loveliest  flowers  as  they  blossom,  that  I  may  touch 
them,  dwell  on  them,  breathe  their  delightful  fra- 
grance and  adore  them.  Here  are  kept  the  dain- 
tiest and  most  delicate  of  the  vases  which  may 
best  set  off  the  flowers'  loveliness,  —  the  smallest  of 
the  collection,  for  the  table  is  only  large  enough 
to  hold  a  few.  There  is  one  slender  small  tum- 
bler of  colorless  glass,  from  the  upper  edge  of 
which  a  crimson  stain  is  diffused  half  way  down 
its  crystal  length.  In  this  I  keep  one  glowing 


100  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

crimson  Burgundy  Rose,  or  an  opening  Jacque- 
minot bud;  the  effect  is  as  if  the  color  of  the 
rose  ran  down  and  dyed  the  glass  crimson.  It 
is  so  beautiful  an  effect  one  never  wearies  of  it. 
There  is  a  little  jar  of  Venice  glass,  the  kind 
which  Browning  describes  in  "  The  Flight  of  the 
Duchess,"  — 

"  With  long  white  threads  distinct  inside, 
Like  the  lake-flower's  fibrous  roots  that  dangle 
Loose  such  a  length  and  never  tangle." 

This  is  charming  with  a  few  rich  Pinks  of  dif- 
ferent shades.  Another  Venice  glass  is  irregu- 
larly bottle-shaped,  bluish  white  with  cool  sea- 
green  reflections  at  the  bottom,  very  delicate,  like 
an  aqua-marine.  It  is  lightly  sprinkled  with  gold 
dust  throughout  its  whole  length ;  toward  the  top 
the  slender  neck  takes  on  a  soft  touch  of  pink 
which  meets  and  mingles  with  the  Bon  Silene  or 
La  France  Rose  I  always  keep  in  it.  Another 
Venice  glass  still  is  a  wonder  of  iridescent  blues, 
lavenders,  gray,  and  gold,  all  through,  with  a  faint 
hint  of  elusive  green.  A  spray  of  heaven-blue 
Larkspur  dashed  with  rose  is  delicious  in  this 
slender  shape,  with  its  marvelous  tints  melting 
into  the  blue  and  pink  of  the  fairy  flowers. 

A  little  glass  of  crystal  girdled  with  gold  holds 
pale  blue  Forget-me-nots;  sometimes  it  is  rich 
with  orange  and  yellow  Erysimum  flowers.  In 
a  tall  Venetian  vase  of  amber  a  Lilium  auratum 
is  superb.  A  low  jar  of  opaque  rose-pink,  lost  at 
the  bottom  in  milky  whiteness,  is  refreshing  with 
an  old-fashioned  Damask  Rose  matching  its  color 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  101 

exactly.  This  is  also  exquisite  with  one  pink 
Water  Lily.  The  pink  variety  of  the  Rose  Cam- 
pion is  enchanting  in  this  low  jar.  A  tall  shaft 
of  ruby  glass  is  radiant  with  Poppies  of  every 
shade  of  rose  and  lightest  scarlet,  with  the  silvery 
green  of  a  few  oats  among  them.  A  slender  pur- 
ple glass  is  fine  with  different  shades  of  purple 
and  lilac  Sweet  Peas,  or  one  or  two  purple  Pop- 
pies, or  an  Aster  or  two  of  just  its  color,  but  there 
is  one  long  gold-speckled  Bohemian  glass  of  rich 
green  which  is  simply  perfect  for  any  flower  that 
blows,  and  perfect  under  any  circumstances.  A 
half  dozen  Iceland  Poppies,  white,  yellow,  orange, 
in  a  little  Japanese  porcelain  bottle,  always  stand 
on  this  beautiful  table,  the  few  flecks  of  color  on 
the  bottle  repeating  their  tints.  I  never  could 
tell  half  the  lovely  combinations  that  glow  on  this 
table  all  summer  long. 

By  the  wide  western  window  a  large  vase  of 
clear  white  glass,  nearly  three  feet  high,  stands 
full  of  spears  of  timothy  grass  taller  than  the  vase, 
the  tallest  I  can  find,  springing  stately  and  high, 
their  heavy  green  tops  bending  the  fine  strong 
stems  just  enough  for  consummate  grace.  These 
are  mixed  with  lighter  branching  grasses,  and 
down  among  the  grass  stalks  are  thrust  the  slen- 
der stalks  of  tall  Poppies  of  every  conceivable 
shade  of  red  ;  the  whole  is  a  great  sheaf  of  splen- 
dor reaching  higher  than  the  top  of  the  window. 
This  is  really  imposing ;  it  takes  the  eye  with  de- 
light. 

All  summer  long  within  this  pleasant  room  the 
flowers  hold  carnival  in  every  possible  combina- 


102  AN  ISLAND   GARDEN 

tion  of  beauty.  All  summer  long  it  is  kept  fresh 
and  radiant  with  their  loveliness,  —  a  wonder  of 
bloom,  color,  and  fragrance.  Year  after  year  a 
long  procession  of  charming  people  come  and  go 
within  its  doors,  and  the  flowers  that  glow  for 
their  delight  seem  to  listen  with  them  to  the  mu- 
sic that  stirs  each  blossom  upon  its  stem.  Often 
have  I  watched  the  great  red  Poppies  drop  their 
fiery  petals  wavering  solemnly  to  the  floor,  stricken 
with  arrows  of  melodious  sound  from  the  match- 
less violin  answering  to  the  touch  of  a  master,  or 
to  the  storm  of  rich  vibrations  from  the  piano. 
What  heavenly  music  has  resounded  from  those 
walls,  what  mornings  and  evenings  of  pleasant- 
ness have  flown  by  in  that  room !  How  many 
people  who  have  been  happy  there  have  gone 
out  of  it  and  of  the  world  forever !  Yet  still  the 
summers  come,  the  flowers  bloom,  are  gathered 
and  adored,  not  without  wistful  thought  of  the 
eyes  that  will  see  them  no  more.  Still  in  the 
sweet  tranquil  mornings  at  the  piano  one  sits 
playing,  also  with  a  master's  touch,  and  strains  of 
Schubert,  Mozart,  Schumann,  Chopin,  Rubin- 
stein, Beethoven,  and  many  others,  soothe  and 
enchant  the  air.  The  wild  bird's  song  that  breaks 
from  without  into  the  sonata  makes  no  discord. 
Open  doors  and  windows  lead  out  on  the  vine- 
wreathed  veranda,  with  the  garden  beyond  steeped 
in  sunshine,  a  sea  of  exquisite  color  swaying  in 
the  light  air.  Poppies  blowing  scarlet  in  the 
wind,  or  delicately  flushing  in  softest  rose  or 
clearest  red,  or  shining  white  where  the  Bride 
stands  tall  and  fair,  like  a  queen  among  them  all 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  103 

A  thousand  varied  hues  amid  the  play  of  flutter- 
ing  leaves :  Marigolds  ablaze  in  vivid  flame ;  pur- 
ple Pansies,  —  a  myriad  flowers,  white,  pink,  blue, 
carmine,  lavender,  in  waves  of  sweet  color  and 
perfume  to  the  garden  fence,  where  stand  the 
sentinel  Sunflowers  and  Hollyhocks,  gorgeously 
arrayed  and  bending  gently  to  the  breeze;  Sun- 
flowers with  broad  faces  that  seem  to  reflect  the 
glory  of  the  day;  the  Hollyhocks,  tall  spikes  of 
pale  and  deep  pink,  white,  scarlet,  yellow,  maroon, 
and  many  hues.  Over  the  sweet  sea  of  flowers 
the  butterflies  go  wavering  on  airy  wings  of  white 
and  gold,  the  bees  hum  in  the  Hollyhocks,  and 
the  humming-birds  glitter  like  jewels  in  the  sun ; 
but  whether  these  their  winged  lovers  go  or  come, 
the  flowers  do  not  care,  they  live  their  happy 
lives  and  rejoice,  intent  only  on  fulfilling  Heaven's 
will,  to  grow  and  to  blossom  in  the  utmost  per- 
fection possible  to  them.  Climbing  the  'trellis, 
the  monthly  Honeysuckle  holds  its  clusters  high 
against  the  pure  sunlit  sky,  glowing  in  beauty 
beyond  any  words  of  mine  to  tell.  Charming 
people  sit  within  the  pleasant  room  among  its 
flowers,  listening  to  the  delicious  music;  others 
are  grouped  without  in  the  sun-flecked  shadow  of 
the  green  vines,  where  the  cool  air  ripples  lightly 
in  the  leaves ;  lovely  women  in  colors  that  seem 
to  have  copied  the  flowers  in  the  garden,  and  all 
steeped  in  sweet  dreams  and  fugitive  fancies  as 
delicate  as  the  perfumes  that  drift  in  soft  waves 
from  the  blossoms  below.  Beyond  the  garden 
the  green  grassy  spaces  sloping  to  the  sea  are  rich 
with  blossoming  thickets  of  wild  Roses,  among 


104  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

the  bleached  white  ledges,  blushing  fair  to  see, 
and  the  ocean  beyond  shimmers  and  sparkles 
beneath  the  touch  of  the  warm  south  wind. 

Enchanting  days,  and  evenings  still  more  so,  if 
that  were  possible!  With  the  music  still  thrill- 
ing within  the  lighted  room  where  the  flowers 
glow  under  the  lamplight,  while  floods  of  moon- 
light make  more  mystic  the  charmed  night  with- 
out. The  thick  curtain  of  the  green  vine  that 
drapes  the  piazza  is  hung  over  its  whole  surface 
with  the  long  drooping  clusters  of  its  starry  flow- 
ers that  lose  all  their  sweetness  upon  the  air, 
and  show  from  the  garden  beneath  like  an  im- 
mense airy  veil  of  delicate  white  lace  in  the  moon- 
light, —  a  wonderful  white  glory.  Through  the 
windows  cut  in  this  living  curtain  of  leaves  and 
flowers  we  look  out  over  the  sea  beneath  the 
moon  —  is  anything  more  mysteriously  beautiful  ? 
—  on  glimmering  waves  and  shadowy  sails  and 
rocks  dim  in  broken  light  and  shade ;  on  the 
garden  with  all  its  flowers  so  full  of  color  that 
even  in  the  moonlight  their  hues  are  visibly  glow- 
ing. The  fair  creatures  stand  still,  unstirred  by 
any  wandering  airs,  the  Lilies  gleam,  and  the 
white  stars  of  the  Nicotiana,  the  white  Poppies, 
the  white  Asters  that  just  begin  to  bloom,  and 
the  tall  milky  clusters  of  the  Phlox :  nothing  dis- 
turbs their  slumber  save  perhaps  the  wheeling  of 
the  rosy-winged  Sphinx  moth  that  flutters  like 
the  spirit  of  the  night  above  them  as  they  dream. 


HE  garden  suffers  from  the  long 
drought  in  this  last  week  of  July, 
though  I  water  it  faithfully.  The  sun 
burns  so  hot  that  the  earth  dries  again 
^^  in  an  hour,  after  the  most  thorough 
drenching  I  can  give  it.  The  patient  flowers  seem 
to  be  standing  in  hot  ashes,  with  the  air  full  of  fire 
above  them.  The  cool  breeze  from  the  sea  flutters 
their  drooping  petals,  but  does  not  refresh  them  in 
the  blazing  noon.  Outside  the  garden  on  the  island 
slopes  the  baked  turf  cracks  away  from  the  heated 
ledges  of  rock,  and  all  the  pretty  growths  of  Sor- 
rel and  Eyebright,  Grasses  and  Crowfoot,  Poten- 
tilla  and  Lion's-tongue,  are  crisp  and  dead.  All 
things  begin  again  to  pine  and  suffer  for  the 
healing  touch  of  the  rain. 

Toward  noon  on  this  last  day  of  the  month  the 
air  darkens,  and  around  the  circle  of  the  horizon 
the  latent  thunder  mutters  low.  Light  puffs  of 
wind  eddy  round  the  garden,  and  whirl  aloft  the 
weary  Poppy  petals  high  in  air,  till  they  wheel 
like  birds  about  the  chimney-tops.  Then  all  is 
quiet  once  more.  In  the  rich,  hot  sky  the  clouds 
105 


106  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

pile  themselves  slowly,  superb  white  heights  of 
thunder-heads  warmed  with  a  brassy  glow  that 
deepens  to  rose  in  their  clefts  toward  the  sun. 
These  clouds  grow  and  grow,  showing  like  Alpine 
summits  amid  the  shadowy  heaps  of  looser  vapor ; 
all  the  great  vault  of  heaven  gathers  darkness  ; 
soon  the  cloudy  heights,  melting,  are  suffused 
in  each  other,  losing  shape  and  form  and  color. 
Then  over  the  coast-line  the  sky  turns  a  hard 
gray-green,  against  which  rises  with  solemn  move- 
ment and  awful  deliberation  an  arch  of  leaden 
vapor  spanning  the  heavens  from  southwest  to 
northeast,  livid,  threatening,  its  outer  edges 
shaped  like  the  curved  rim  of  a  mushroom, 
gathering  swiftness  as  it  rises,  while  the  water 
beneath  is  black  as  hate,  and  the  thunder  rolls 
peal  upon  peal,  as  faster  and  faster  the  wild  arch 
moves  upward  into  tremendous  heights  above  our 
heads.  The  whole  sky  is  dark  with  threatening 
purple.  Death  and  destruction  seem  ready  to 
emerge  from  beneath  that  flying  arch  of  which 
the  livid  fringes  stream  like  gray  flame  as  the 
wind  rends  its  fierce  and  awful  edge.  Under  it 
afar  on  the  black  level  water  a  single  sail  gleams 
chalk-white  in  the  gloom,  a  sail  that  even  as  we 
look  is  furled  away  from  our  sight,  that  the  frail 
craft  which  bears  it  may  ride  out  the  gale  under 
bare  poles,  or  drive  before  it  to  some  haven  of 
safety.  Earth  seems  to  hold  her  breath  before 
the  expected  fury.  Lightning  scores  the  sky  from 
zenith  to  horizon,  and  across  from  north  to  south 
"a  fierce,  vindictive  scribble  of  fire"  writes  its 
blinding  way,  and  the  awesome  silence  is  broken 


AN   ISLAND  GARDEN  107 

by  the  cracking  thunder  that  follows  every  flash. 
A  moment  more,  and  a  few  drops  like  bullets 
strike  us ;  then  the  torn  arch  flies  over  in  tat- 
tered rags,  a  monstrous  apparition  lost  in  dark- 
ness; then  the  wind  tears  the  black  sea  into  white 
rage  and  roars  and  screams  and  shouts  with  tri- 
umph, —  the  floods  and  the  hurricane  have  it  all 
their  own  way.  Continually  the  tempest  is  shot 
through  with  the  leaping  lightning  and  crashing 
thunder,  like  steady  cannonading,  echoing  and 
reechoing,  roaring  through  the  vast  empty  spaces 
of  the  heavens.  In  pauses  of  the  tumult  a  strange 
light  is  fitful  over  sea  and  rocks,  then  the  tem- 
pest begins  afresh  as  if  it  had  taken  breath  and 
gained  new  strength.  One's  whole  heart  rises 
responding  to  the  glory  and  the  beauty  of  the 
storm,  and  is  grateful  for  the  delicious  refresh- 
ment of  the  rain.  Every  leaf  rejoices  in  the  life- 
giving  drops.  Through  the  dense  sparkling  rain- 
curtain  the  lightning  blazes  now  in  crimson  and 
in  purple  sheets  of  flame.  Oh,  but  the  wind  is 
wild !  Spare  my  treasures,  oh,  do  not  slay  ut- 
terly my  beautiful,  beloved  flowers !  The  tall 
stalks  bend  and  strain,  the  Larkspurs  bow.  I 
hold  my  breath  while  the  danger  lasts,  thinking 
only  of  the  wind's  power  to  harm  the  garden ;  for 
the  leaping  lightning  and  the  crashing  thunder  I 
love,  but  the  gale  fills  me  with  dread  for  my  flow- 
ers defenseless.  Still  down  pour  the  refreshing 
floods ;  everything  is  drenched :  where  are  the 
humming-birds?  The  boats  toss  madly  on  the 
moorings,  the  sea  breaks  wildly  on  the  shore, 
the  world  is  drowned  and  gone,  there  is  nothing 


108  AN  ISLAND   GARDEN 

but  tempest  and  tumult  and  rush  and  roar  of  wind 
and  rain. 

The  long  trailing  sprays  of  the  Echinocystus 
vine  stretch  and  strain  like  pennons  flying  out  in 
the  blast,  the  Wistaria  tosses  its  feathery  plumes 
over  the  arch  above  the  door.  Alas,  for  my  bank 
of  tall  Poppies  and  blue  Cornflowers  and  yellow 
Chrysanthemums  outside  !  The  Poppies  are  laid 
low,  never  to  rise  again,  but  the  others  will  gather 
themselves  together  by  and  by,  and  the  many- 
colored  fires  of  Nasturtiums  will  clothe  the  slope 
with  new  beauty  presently.  The  storm  is  sweep- 
ing past,  already  the  rain  diminishes,  the  light- 
ning pales,  the  thunder  retreats  till  leagues  and 
leagues  away  we  hear  it  "moaning  and  calling 
out  of  other  lands."  The  clouds  break  away  and 
show  in  the  west  glimpses  of  pure,  melting  blue, 
the  sun  bursts  forth,  paints  a  rainbow  in  the  east 
upon  the  flying  fragments  of  the  storm,  and  pours 
a  flood  of  glory  over  the  drowned  earth ;  the 
pelted  flowers  take  heart  and  breathe  again,  every 
leaf  shines,  dripping  with  moisture;  the  grassy 
slopes  laugh  in  sweet  color;  the  sea  calms  itself 
to  vast  tranquillity  and  answers  back  the  touch 
of  the  sun  with  a  million  glittering  smiles. 

Though  the  outside  bank  of  flowers  is  wrecked 
and  the  tall  Poppies  prone  upon  the  ground,  those 
inside  the  garden  are  safe  because  I  took  the  pre- 
caution to  run  two  rows  of  wire  netting  up  and 
down  through  the  beds  for  their  support.  So, 
when  the  winds  are  cruelly  violent,  the  tall,  brittle 
stalks  lean  against  this  light  but  strong  bulwark 
and  are  unhurt. 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  109 

After  the  storm,  in  the  clear,  beautiful  morning, 
before  sunrise  I  went  as  usual  into  the  garden  to 
gather  my  flowers.  To  and  fro,  up  and  down 
over  the  ruined  bank  I  passed ;  the  wind  blew 
cool  and  keen  from  the  west,  though  the  sky  was 
smiling.  The  storm  had  beaten  the  flowers  flat 
all  over  the  slope ;  in  scarlet  and  white  and  blue 
and  pink  and  purple  and  orange  bloom  they  were 
prostrate  everywhere,  leaves,  stalks,  blossoms,  and 
all  tangled  and  matted  in  an  inextricable  con- 
fusion. Swiftly  I  made  my  way  through  it,  find- 
ing a  foothold  here  and  there,  and  stooping  for 
every  freshly  unfolded  cup  or  star  or  bell  whose 
bud  the  tempest  had  spared.  As  I  neared  the  lit- 
tle western  gate  with  my  hands  full  of  blossoms  to 
enter  the  garden  on  my  way  to  the  house,  I  was 
stopped  still  as  a  statue  before  a  most  pathetic 
sight.  There,  straight  across  the  way,  a  tall 
Poppy  plant  lay  prone  upon  the  ground,  and 
clinging  to  the  stem  of  one  of  its  green  seed-pods 
sat  my  precious  pet  humming-bird,  the  dearest  of 
the  flock  that  haunt  the  garden,  the  tamest  of 
them  all.  His  eyes  were  tightly  closed,  his  tiny 
claws  clasped  the  stem  automatically,  he  had  no 
feeling,  he  was  rigid  with  cold.  The  chill  dew 
loaded  the  gray-green  Poppy  leaves,  the  keen 
wind  blew  sharply  over  him,  —  he  is  dead,  I 
thought  with  a  pang,  as  I  shifted  my  flowers  in  a 
glowing  heap  to  my  left  arm,  and  clasped  the 
frozen  little  body  in  the  palm  of  my  right  hand. 
It  was  difficult  to  disengage  his  slender  wiry  claws 
from  their  close  grip  on  the  chilly  stalk,  but  he 
never  moved  or  showed  a  sign  of  life  as  I  took 


HO  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

him  off.  I  held  him  most  tenderly  in  my  closed 
hand,  very  careful  not  to  crush  or  even  press  his 
tiny  perishing  body,  and  breathed  into  the  shut 
hollow  of  my  palm  upon  him  with  a  warm  and 
loving  breath.  I  was  so  very  busy,  there  were  so 
many  things  to  be  done  that  morning,  I  could  not 
stop  to  sit  down  and  nurse  him  back  to  life.  But 
I  held  him  safe,  and  as  I  went  up  and  down  the 
garden  paths  gathering  the  rest  of  my  flowers,  I 
breathed  every  moment  into  my  hand  upon  him. 
Ten,  fifteen,  twenty  minutes  passed ;  he  made  no 
sign  of  life.  Alas,  I  thought,  he  is  truly  dead; 
when  all  at  once  I  felt  the  least  little  thrill  pass 
through  the  still,  cold  form,  an  answering  thrill 
of  joy  ran  through  me  in  response,  and  more 
softly,  closely,  tenderly  yet  I  sent  my  warm  breath 
to  the  tiny  creature  as  I  still  went  on  with  my 
work.  In  a  few  minutes  more  I  began  to  feel 
the  smallest  fluttering  pulse  of  life  throbbing 
faintly  within  him ;  in  yet  a  few  moments  more 
he  stirred  and  stretched  his  wings,  comforting 
himself  in  the  genial  heat.  When  at  last  I  felt 
him  all  alive,  I  took  a  small  shallow  basket  of 
yellow  straw,  very  small  and  light,  and  in  it  put 
a  tuft  of  soft  cotton  wool,  filled  a  tiny  glass  cup 
with  sugar  and  water,  honey-thick,  placed  it  in  the 
basket  by  the  cotton,  then  gently  laid  the  wee  bird 
on  the  warm  fluff.  His  eyes  were  still  closed, 
but  he  moved  his  head  slowly  from  side  to  side. 
The  sun  had  risen  and  was  pouring  floods  of  light 
and  heat  into  the  garden.  I  carried  the  basket 
out  into  the  corner  where  the  heavenly  blue  Lark- 
spurs stood  behind  the  snow-whiteness  of  the  full 


AN  ISLAND   GARDEN  HI 

blossoming  Lilies,  and  among  the  azure  spikes  I 
hung  the  pretty  cradle  where  the  sunbeams  lay 
hottest  and  brightest  on  the  flowers.  The  wind, 
grown  balmy  and  mild,  rocked  the  tall  flower- 
spikes  gently,  the  basket  swayed  with  them,  and 
the  heat  was  so  reviving  that  the  dear  little  crea- 
ture presently  opened  his  eyes  and  quietly  looked 
about  him.  At  that  my  heart  rejoiced.  It  was 
delightful  to  watch  his  slow  return  to  his  old  self 
as  I  still  went  on  with  my  work,  looking  continu- 
ally toward  him  to  see  how  he  was  getting  on. 
The  ardent  sunbeams  sent  fresh  life  through  him ; 
suddenly  he  rose,  an  emerald  spark,  into  the  air, 
and  quivered  among  the  blue  flowers,  diving  deep 
into  each  winged  blossom  for  his  breakfast  of 
honey. 

All  day  and  every  day  he  haunts  the  garden, 
and  when  tired  rests  contentedly  on  the  small  twig 
of  a  dry  pea-stick  near  the  Larkspurs.  The  rosy 
Peas  blossom  about  him,  the  Hollyhock  flowers 
unfold  in  glowing  pink  with  lace-like  edges  of 
white ;  the  bees  hum  there  all  day  in  and  out  of 
the  many  flowers;  the  butterflies  hover  and  waver 
and  wheel.  When  one  comes  too  near  him,  up 
starts  my  beauty  and  chases  him  away  on  bur- 
nished wings,  away  beyond  the  garden's  bounds, 
and  returns  to  occupy  his  perch  in  triumph, — the 
dry  twig  he  has  taken  for  his  home  the  whole 
sweet  summer  long.  Other  humming-birds  haunt 
the  place,  but  he  belongs  there ;  they  go  and  come, 
but  he  keeps  to  his  perch  and  his  Larkspurs  faith- 
fully. He  is  so  tame  he  never  stirs  from  his  twig 
for  anybody,  no  matter  how  near  a  person  may 


112  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

come  ;  he  alights  on  my  arms  and  hands  and  hair 
unafraid ;  he  rifles  the  flowers  I  hold,  when  I  am 
gathering  them,  and  I  sometimes  think  he  is  the 
very  most  charming  thing  in  the  garden.  The 
jealous  bees  and  the  butterflies  follow  the  flow- 
ers I  carry  also,  sometimes  all  the  way  into  the 
house.  The  other  day,  as  I  sat  in  the  piazza. 
which  the  vines  shade  with  their  broad  green 
leaves  and  sweet  white  flowers  climbing  up  to  the 
eaves  and  over  the  roof,  I  saw  the  humming-birds 
hovering  over  the  whole  expanse  of  green,  to  and 
fro,  and  discovered  that  they  were  picking  off  and 
devouring  the  large  transparent  aphides  scattered, 
I  am  happy  to  say  but  sparingly,  over  its  surface, 
every  little  gnat  and  midge  they  snapped  up  with 
avidity.  I  had  fancied  they  lived  on  honey,  but 
they  appeared  to  like  the  insects  quite  as  well. 

In  the  sweet  silence  before  sunrise,  standing  in 
the  garden  I  watch  the  large  round  shield  of  the 
full  moon  slowly  fading  in  the  west  from  copper 
to  brass  and  then  to  whitest  silver,  throwing  across 
a  sea  of  glass  its  long,  still  reflection,  while  the 
deep,  pure  sky  takes  on  a  rosy  warmth  of  color 
from  the  approaching  sun.  Soon  an  insufferable 
glory  burns  on  the  edge  of  the  eastern  horizon ; 
up  rolls  the  great  round  red  orb  and  sets  the  dew 
twinkling  and  sparkling  in  a  thousand  rainbows, 
sending  its  first  rejoicing  rays  over  the  wide  face 
of  the  world.  When  in  these  fresh  mornings  I 
go  into  my  garden  before  any  one  is  awake,  I  go 
for  the  time  being  into  perfect  happiness.  In  this 
hour  divinely  fresh  and  still,  the  fair  face  of  every 
flower  salutes  me  with  a  silent  joy  that  fills  me 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  113 

with  infinite  content;  each  gives  me  its  color, 
its  grace,  its  perfume,  and  enriches  me  with  the 
consummation  of  its  beauty.  All  the  cares,  per- 
plexities, and  griefs  of  existence,  all  the  burdens 
of  life  slip  from  my  shoulders  and  leave  me 
with  the  heart  of  a  little  child  that  asks  nothing 
beyond  its  present  moment  of  innocent  bliss. 
These  myriad  beaming  faces  turned  to  mine  seem 
to  look  at  me  with  blessing  eyes.  I  feel  the  per- 
sonality of  each  flower,  and  I  find  myself  greeting 
them  as  if  they  were  human.  "Good-morning, 
beloved  friends  !  Are  all  things  well  with  you  ? 
And  are  you  tranquil  and  bright  ?  and  are  you 
happy  and  beautiful  ?  "  They  stand  in  their  peace 
and  purity  and  lift  themselves  to  my  adoring  gaze 
as  if  they  knew  my  worship,  —  so  calm,  so  sweet, 
so  delicately  radiant,  I  lose  myself  in  the  tran- 
quillity of  their  happiness.  They  seem  like  senti- 
ent beings,  as  if  they  knew  me  and  loved  me,  not 
indeed  as  I  love  them,  but  with  almost  a  reliance 
on  my  sympathy  and  care,  and  a  pleasure  in  my 
delight  in  them.  I  please  myself  with  the  thought 
that  if  anything  goes  wrong  with  them,  if  a  vine 
or  tender  stalk  droops  for  lack  of  support,  or  if 
some  insect  is  working  them  woe,  or  threat  of 
harm  comes  to  them  from  any  quarter,  they  say 
to  each  other,  "  Patience !  She  will  be  coming 
soon,  she  will  see  our  trouble,  she  will  succor  us, 
and  all  will  again  be  well." 

The  summer  life  in  the  garden  of  the  winged 
things  of  the  air  is  most  charming,  —  the  wonder- 
ful creatures  that  have  escaped,  as  it  were,  from 
the  earth.  The  life  that  crawls  and  creeps  and 


II4  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

devours  and  destroys,  in  the  forms  of  slug  and 
cutworm  and  all  hideous  shapes,  is  utterly  forgot- 
ten as  we  watch  these  ethereal  beings,  fluttering, 
quivering,  darting,  dancing,  wavering,  wheeling, 
rejoicing  aloft  in  merry  flight.  The  Larkspur 
spikes  bend  with  the  weight  of  the  booming  bees, 
the  whole  blossoming  space  is  alive  with  many- 
colored  butterflies  like  floating  flowers,  and  the 
humming-birds  are  a  perpetual  pleasure.  They 
are  astir  even  before  sunrise,  when  the  air  is  yet 
chill  with  the  breath  of  the  retreating  night,  — 
there  they  are,  vibrating  with  their  soft  humming 
over  the  Larkspur  blossoms  which  are  themselves 
like  exquisite  azure  birds  all  poised  for  flight, 
or  diving  deep  into  the  fragrant  trumpets  of  the 
Honeysuckle,  everywhere  flashing  in  emerald  and 
ruby  as  the  sun's  first  beams  strike  them,  like  the 
living  jewels  they  are.  Their  fearlessness  is  some- 
thing amazing.  I  never  shall  forget  the  surprise 
of  joy  that  filled  me  when  for  the  first  time  one 
alighted  on  my  sleeve  and  rested,  as  much  at  home 
as  if  I  were  a  stick  or  a  harmless  twig  !  Sparrows 
and  nuthatches  had  often  alighted  on  my  head  as 
I  stood  musing  over  my  flowers,  perfectly  still, 
but  to  have  this  tiny  spark  of  brilliant  life  come 
to  anchor,  as  it  were,  on  anything  so  earthly  as  my 
arm  was  indeed  a  nine  days'  wonder !  Now  it  has 
grown  to  be  an  old  story,  but  it  is  never  any  less 
delightful. 

August  1 8th.  This  morning  the  garden  was  so 
dry  again  when  I  sought  it  at  sunrise,  in  spite  of 
the  heavy  dew,  that  I  took  the  hose  and  turned 
on  the  water,  showering  the  whole  place  most 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  115 

thoroughly.  When  I  had  done  the  drops  clung 
thickly  to  everything,  to  the  sprays  of  Sweet  Peas 
especially,  the  rough  surface  of  their  leaves 
and  stalks  catching  and  holding  the  water  more 
tenaciously  than  the  smoother  foliage ;  they  were 
begemmed,  as  it  were,  with  so  many  sparkling 
spheres  of  light.  The  tamest,  dearest  humming- 
bird, whose  home  is  in  the  Larkspurs,  was  greatly 
excited  by  this  unexpected  and  refreshing  shower, 
and  whirred  about  me,  uttering  continually  his 
one  fine,  sweet,  keen  note.  When  my  rain-storm 
ceased  he  flew  to  the  Sweet  Peas  close  to  his 
azure  bower,  and  sitting  on  a  green  spray  already 
bent  with  the  weight  of  the  clear  drops,  proceeded 
to  take  his  morning  bath  with  the  most  cheerful 
enjoyment.  He  fluttered  his  tiny  wings  and 
ducked  his  head  and  wagged  his  tail  and  drenched 
himself  completely ;  his  feathers  were  so  soaking 
wet  that  his  little  body  looked  no  bigger  than  a 
bumble-bee ;  then  he  flew  up  and  lighted  on  the 
tallest  pea-stick  that  reached  over  the  fence 
among  the  Larkspurs :  there  sitting  on  his  favorite 
twig  he  rapidly  preened  his  feathers,  shook  him- 
self, spread  his  wings  and  tail  and  combed  them 
with  his  slender  beak  and  dried  them  in  the 
broad,  bright  beams  that  poured  across  the  gar- 
den  from  the  low  sun.  With  claws  and  beak  he 
smoothed  and  arranged  his  dainty  raiment,  per- 
fectly regardless  of  me,  his  ardent  admirer,  stand- 
ing near  enough  to  touch  him  with  my  finger. 
Then  he  fluttered  in  and  out  among  the  flowers, 
dipping  into  every  dewy  chalice  and  feasting  on 
his  fragrant  honey. 


Il6  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

I  wonder,  as  I  muse  over  the  charms  of  these 
most  minute  of  feathered  creatures,  how  it  is  pos- 
sible for  their  tiny  wings  to  bear  them  over  the 
miles  of  restless  and  perilous  brine,  to  find  this 
rock  with  its  nest  of  flowers !  Do  they  surmise 
the  hospitality  that  awaits  them  at  the  end  of 
their  long  journey  as  they  steer  their  dangerous 
way  across  the  wastes  of  the  salt  sea  on  those 
small,  weak,  quivering  pinions  ?  Have  they  some 
subtle  inkling  of  the  tender  welcome  that  awaits 
them  here  ?  Do  they  guess  how  they  will  be  ad- 
mired and  adored?  I  have  filled  a  small  glass 
mug  with  sugar  and  water  thick  as  honey,  and 
fastened  it  in  a  crotch  of  the  pea-sticks  for  them 
to  feed  upon ;  the  bees  throng  to  it,  the  ants 
have  found  it,  and  I  hope  the  humming-birds  will 
feast  there  too.  One  morning  lately,  as  I  was  busy 
in  the  garden,  a  little  creature  brushed  by  me  so 
close  I  thought  it  was  a  bee  ;  turning  to  look  at 
it,  I  was  sure  it  was  a  humming-bird,  but  such  an 
atom  !  Its  like  I  had  never  imagined.  I  watched 
it,  fascinated,  as  it  flew  here,  there,  and  everywhere, 
whirring  just  like  a  humming-bird,  crazy  over  the 
annual  Larkspurs.  A  greenish  golden  sheen  was 
reflected  from  the  head  and  back,  the  very  color 
of  the  little  bird,  and  it  had  a  small,  short  tail,  with 
a  band  of  white  round  its  body,  which  seemed 
feathered,  as  also  its  mottled  breast.  Its  bright 
black  eyes  were  like  the  bird's,  and  it  hummed 
with  its  wings  in  precisely  the  same  way.  Its 
beak  was  short,  and  as  it  went  from  flower  to 
flower,  probing  for  honey,  I  was  perfectly  sure  it 
was  a  new  variety  of  humming-bird,  the  most 


AN   ISLAND  GARDEN  117 

minute  that  was  ever  created.  I  watched  it  with 
breathless  interest,  completely  puzzled  by  it.  Per- 
fectly tame,  it  flew  all  about  me  and  investigated 
the  flowers  in  my  hand.  Suddenly  I  discovered 
that  it  had  three  pairs  of  legs!  No  bird,  I  said, 
ever  had  more  than  one,  and  then  I  was  satisfied 
that  it  must  be  the  most  marvelous  moth  in  the 
world.  It  was  so  happy  and  beautiful,  flying 
about  so  confidingly  in  the  bright  sunshine  within 
reach  of  my  hand !  But  I  knew  of  some  one  to 
whom  it  would  be  a  treasure,  so  I  threw  a  light 
veil  over,  caught  it,  and  sent  it  softly  to  sleep 
forever  with  some  chloroform.  It  was  j&Lllopos 
Titan,  very  rare,  and  found  in  the  tropics. 

The  dazzling  white  Lilies  blossoming  now, 
bright  as  silvery  snow  below  the  Larkspurs,  are 
taller  than  they  by  several  feet.  I  wish  I  could 
in  any  words  paint  the  hues  of  these  splendid 
Delphiniums  ;  such  shades  of  melting  blue,  some 
light,  others  dark,  some  like  the  summer  heaven, 
and  dashed  across  their  pale  azure  wings  with  de- 
licious rose.  Now  is  the  garden  at  high  tide  of 
beauty.  Sweet  Peas  are  brilliant  in  all  their  vivid 
tints ;  they  are  doing  bravely,  spite  of  the  drought, 
because  their  roots  are  so  well  shaded.  They 
bloom  so  plenteously  that  they  can  hardly  be 
gathered,  though  they  are  cut  daily.  The  Rose 
Campion  bed  is  a  lake  of  delicate  colors  with  its 
border  of  scarlet  Flax.  Poppies  of  every  tint  are 
blazing;  the  Hollyhocks  are  splendid,  with  their 
comrades  the  Sunflowers;  every  day  the  single 
Dahlias  surprise  me  with  new  and  unexpected 
flowers ;  the  Tea  Rose  bed  is  a  perpetual  delight 


Il8  AN  ISLAND   GARDEN 

and  astonishment ;  the  purple  Zanzibar  Lily  is 
blossoming  in  its  tub  and  never  is  without  its 
wonderful  cup  afloat ;  the  Lotus  sends  up  strong, 
long-stemmed  leaves  aloft,  and  keeps  me  eagerly 
looking  for  its  promised  flower  of  radiant  pink,  — 
its  leaves  are  a  marvel  with  their  mystic  markings 
held  so  high  above  the  water.  The  Honeysuckles 
are  breathing  out  all  their  sweetness  on  the  air ; 
the  Pinks  are  out  in  spicy  bloom ;  the  Mountain 
Fringe  drapes  the  doorway  with  cloudy  green 
and  pale  rose-color.  Constellations  of  Marigolds 
and  Artemisias  and  Coreopsis,  whole  solar  sys- 
tems of  fiery  suns  and  stars,  blossom  all  over  the 
place,  and  in  partly  shaded  corners  large  fragrant 
stars  of  Nicotiana  shine  also  when  twilight  falls. 
The  Japanese  Sunflowers  make  every  spot  gay 
where  they  unfold;  they  are  hardy;  when  once 
they  fairly  get  a  foothold  in  the  garden,  they  will 
not  be  dislodged,  and  I  for  one  would  never  wish 
to  dislodge  them,  though  they  spread  and  grow 
and  multiply  rapidly,  and  take  much  space  if  left 
to  go  on  undisturbed.  They  have  an  indescriba- 
ble golden  atmosphere  about  them,  because,  I  sup- 
pose, of  their  cup-like  shape ;  they  never  stretch 
their  petals  out  flat  like  other  Sunflowers.  They 
have  a  small  brown  central  disk,  and  their  "  ray- 
like  florets  "  are  of  deep  yellow,  curved  more  in- 
ward than  outward.  The  Artemisias  are  in  one 
shade  of  full,  rich  gold,  in  shape  like  a  common 
field  Daisy ;  the  Marigolds  are  in  every  shade  of 
yellow,  orange,  and  flame,  effulgent,  —  some  with 
centres  of  velvet  brown,  some  with  peacock  green, 
some  all  gold,  with  exquisite  gradations  of  color 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  U9 

through  all  their  rays.  "Ardent  Marigolds!" 
sang  John  Keats.  Ardent  indeed  they  are,  with 
fervors  of  color  that  glow  like  the  beams  of  day. 

The  dark  crimson  Jacqueminot  Roses  are  al- 
most gone,  but  almost  every  other  flower  is  at  its 
best,  the  whole  garden  in  blossom  at  once.  Dearly 
I  love  to  sit  in  the  sun  upon  the  doorstep  with 
a  blossom  in  my  hand  and  meditate  upon  its 
details,  the  lavish  elaboration  of  its  loveliness,  to 
study  every  peculiar  characteristic  of  each,  and 
wonder  and  rejoice  in  its  miraculous  existence,  a 
feast  more  delicate  and  satisfying  than  the  honey 
the  birds  and  bees  and  butterflies  gather  from  its 
heart.  Over  my  head  the  Coboea  vine  droops  its 
large  green  and  purple  bells,  with  many  another 
flower  beside.  The  Tropaeolum  Lucifer  throng- 
ing up  the  trellis  on  either  hand  truly  merits  the 
name  of  Light-bearer;  its  scarlet  velvet  blooms 
have  almost  an  illuminating  quality.  I  hold  a 
flower  of  the  pretty  Love-in-a-mist,  the  quaint 
Nigella,  and  scan  its  charming  face.  It  blossoms 
late  and  long,  and  is  a  flower  of  most  distin- 
guished beauty.  It  is  star -shaped,  in  tints  of 
white,  blue,  and  purple,  with  full  rich  stamens 
and  anthers  of  warmer  red-purple,  the  petals  on 
the  back  delicately  veined  in  each  variety  with 
fine  lines  of  faint  green.  The  rich  cluster  of 
stamens  is  surrounded  at  the  base  by  eight  smaller 
inner  petals  in  different  tints,  so  wonderful  in  de- 
tail, so  ornate  in  decoration  as  to  be  simply  inde- 
scribable. Each  large  outer  petal  is  curved  and 
cup-shaped,  yet  each  has  its  finishing  point  which 
makes  the  blossom  starry,  and  these  eight  inner 


120  AN   ISLAND  GARDEN 

petals  radiate  from  the  centre  within,  above  the 
larger  ones.  The  foliage  whence  it  gets  its  old- 
time  name,  Love-in-a-mist,  is  like  a  soft  green 
vapor,  and  in  the  double  varieties,  the  white  es- 
pecially, runs  up  and  mixes  itself  with  the  petals. 
The  single  varieties  are  much  the  finest.  They 
have  a  faint  perfume  of  anise,  and  they  are  among 
the  quaintest  and  most  interesting  flowers  I  know. 
I  love  to  pore  over  every  blossom  that  unfolds 
in  the  garden,  no  matter  what  it  may  be,  to  study 
it  and  learn  it  by  heart  as  far  as  a  poor  mortal 
may.  If  one  but  gazes  closely  into  a  tiny  flower 
of  the  pale  blue  Forget-me-not,  what  a  chapter 
of  loveliness  is  there !  One  sees  at  a  glance  the 
sweet  color  of  the  starry,  compact  cluster,  and 
perhaps  will  notice  that  the  delicate  buds  in  their 
cherishing  calyx  are  several  shades  of  rose  and 
lilac  before  they  unclose,  but  unless  one  studies 
it  closely,  how  shall  one  know  that  in  most  cases 
the  himmel-blau  petals  are  distinctly  heart-shaped, 
that  round  its  golden  centre  it  wears  a  necklace 
of  pearls,  or  so  they  seem,  till  on  looking  closer 
one  discovers  that  the  effect  is  made  by  the 
fluting  of  the  whitened  folds  of  each  petal  at  the 
base ;  it  looks  precisely  as  if  it  wore  a  string  of 
polished  beads.  The  tiny  spot  of  darkness  within 
its  inmost  yellow  ring  holds  five  stamens,  with 
dusty  anthers  of  paler  yellow  (also  heart-shaped 
when  the  flower  first  unfolds)  in  a  close  circle 
round  the  pistil  of  pale  green.  Unless  the  eyes 
are  young  and  keen  a  microscope  only  will  tell 
this ;  but  it  is  one  of  the  wisest  things  in  the 
world  to  carry  in  one's  pocket  a  little  magnifying 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  12 1 

glass,  for  this  opens  so  many  unknown  gates  into 
the  wonders  and  splendors  of  Creation.  There 
is  such  wealth  of  ornament,  such  marvelous  sub- 
tile thought  spent  on  the  smallest  blossom  !  The 
"  sweet  and  cunning  hand  of  Nature  "  is  so  lavish 
of  its  work,  and  it  is  all  so  happy,  the  joy  is  so 
inexhaustible,  the  refreshment  to  the  human  soul 
so  heavenly ! 

The  fragrant  fringes  of  the  Mignonette,  how 
surprising  and  curiously  beautiful  they  are  under 
the  little  pocket  microscope !  What  elaboration 
of  detail,  what  tempered  harmonies  of  color,  what 
marvels  of  construction  !  I  reach  my  hand  for  a 
blossom  of  Coreopsis  Coronata  some  one  has  let 
fall  on  the  step,  —  what  a  refulgent  flower!  There 
is  something  Spanish  about  its  aspect  always  to 
me.  There  are  eight  yellow  velvet  petals  deeply 
toothed  at  the  edges,  and  rich  embroideries  in 
red  about  the  warmer  yellow  of  the  centre.  Gor- 
geous it  is,  and  so  is  its  relative,  Coreopsis  Drum- 
mondii,  and  both  have  a  double  row  of  sepals,  the 
row  nearest  the  corolla  brown  and  thin  and  light, 
the  outer  one  much  coarser  and  bright  green. 
The  centre  of  the  Drummondii  is  more  like  the 
wild  Rudbeckia,  with  markings  not  so  ornate  as 
the  Coronata,  but  in  a  mass,  and  of  a  brighter, 
clearer  red.  All  this  family  of  flowers,  Lanceo- 
lata,  Golden  Banner,  the  deep  scarlet  and  maroon 
varieties,  are  superb  and  most  decorative. 

It  is  a  great  temptation  to  linger  over  the  love- 
liness of  every  flower  that  unfolds,  but  I  spare 
my  patient  readers,  and  leave  them  to  pursue 
these  fascinating  researches  for  themselves. 


122  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

I  have  had  reward  enough  for  all  my  care  of 
the  Water  Lilies  (even  though  they  had  put  forth 
only  leaves,  but  they  have  blossomed  well)  in  the 
delight  of  the  birds  over  the  tubs  of  clear  water 
on  which  the  mottled  leaves  are  floating.  So 
many  charming  creatures  pause  at  them  to  drink, 
and  the  song-sparrows  bathe  there  daily.  En- 
chanting it  is  to  watch  their  pretty  ways  as  they 
hop  from  the  tub's  edge  upon  a  Lily-pad  which 
yields  beneath  their  weight  and  lets  them  gently 
down,  but  out  of  this  they  always  flit  and  take 
their  own  way  about  it,  dipping  and  splashing 
bravely  till  they  are  thoroughly  drenched,  then 
preening  and  drying  themselves  as  they  sit  upon 
the  brim,  and  singing  their  song  of  sweet  content 
when  all  is  done. 

September  23d.  Now  are  the  crickets  loud  in 
the  grass  and  the  Hawkweed  waves  in  pale  yellow 
all  over  the  island,  the  autumn  Dandelion,  starry 
on  its  long  and  slender  stem.  But  still  the  gar- 
den glows,  and  still  autumn 

"  Sets  budding  more 
And  still  more  later  flowers  for  the  bees, 
Until  they  think  warm  days  will  never  cease, 
For  summer  has  o'er  brimmed  their  clammy  cells." 

Where  the  Hollyhocks  earliest  to  blossom  stand 
bereft  of  all  save  their  thick-growing,  full,  round 
seed  vessels,  the  late  Morning-glories  have 
wreathed  and  twined  themselves  and  hung  the 
stems  with  white  and  rose  and  heaven-blue  bells, 
and  the  later  blooming  stalks  are  rich  with  fresh 
flowers.  Still  the  Sweet  Peas  blossom  as  if  their 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  123 

thick  ranks  were  ready  to  fly  away  with  myriad 
wings  of  delicious  pink,  blue,  purple,  red,  and 
white.  Poppies  yet  bloom,  Rose  Campions  at 
their  brightest,  hemmed  in  with  the  Scarlet  Flax, 
and  the  stars  and  suns  of  Marigolds  blaze  with  a 
matchless  glory.  Single  Dahlias  are  sumptuous 
in  every  color,  and  in  their  prime.  One  Coreopsis 
Golden  Banner  is  a  sight  to  see,  like  a  great  gold 
mountain  heaped  in  the  middle  of  the  garden. 
Many  kinds  of  Helianthus  make  splendid  the  lit- 
tle inclosure ;  Love-in-a-mist  puts  out  flower  after 
flower  of  mystic  charm;  the  Asters  bloom  in 
profusion  of  exquisite  colors, — the  Comet  variety, 
which  I  think  is  most  lovely  of  all.  The  white 
Stocks  are  dazzling  in  their  purity,  and  so  fra- 
grant !  Nasturtiums  run  riot,  of  course,  and  light 
up  every  corner ;  the  Phloxes  glow ;  the  Mourn- 
ing Brides  are  fine  in  their  sumptuous  black-red 
velvet;  Verbenas  are  brilliant;  Tea  Roses  blos- 
soming yet ;  the  Giant  Spider  flower,  Cleome 
pungens,  rises  all  over  the  garden  in  rosy  purple 
clouds.  Mignonette  is  lavish  of  rich  spikes  of 
bloom,  and  the  Pansies  never  so  splendid;  im- 
mense smooth,  perfect  flowers  of  every  color,  they 
never  put  forth  such  in  the  summer  heats.  Pico- 
tee  pinks  are  bright  and  sweet,  but  the  poor  little 
Margarets  suffered  too  much  with  the  venomous 
carnation  worm,  spite  of  my  daily  care,  and  are 
only  just  now  sending  up  their  buds.  I  shall  take 
them  up  and  keep  them  safe  in  the  house  over 
the  winter.  In  a  corner  the  deep  blue  Plum- 
bago Lady  Larpent  blooms  finely,  the  Foxgloves 
are  strong  and  tall,  though  they  will  not  blossom 


124  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

till  another  year ;  but  the  whole  garden  is  a  mass 
of  bloom  and  fragance,  still  haunted  by  birds, 
bees,  butterflies,  and  dragonflies;  the  humming- 
birds are  gone,  I  know  not  whither,  not  to  return 
this  year.  The  withering  vines  are  alive  with 
many  little  creepers  and  warblers  and  flycatchers ; 
indeed,  the  island  is  full  of  distinguished  bird- 
strangers  on  their  way  south.  Scores  of  golden 
woodpeckers,  or  flickers,  or  yellow-hammers  (they 
have  dozens  of  striking  names)  are  here,  and  just 
now  two  great  ospreys  perch  on  the  vane  above 
the  highest  ridge-pole,  and  soar  and  perch  again, 
uttering  strange,  harsh  cries.  This  morning  a 
large  flock  of  wild  geese  flew  over  toward  the 
south,  so  low  we  could  see  the  colors  and  the 
markings  of  their  plumage.  The  familiar  curlews 
call  sweetly  as  in  spring.  Outside  the  garden 
this  tranquil  morning  the  soft  green  turf  that 
slopes  smoothly  to  the  sea  in  front  is  shaggy  with 
the  thick  dew  from  which  the  yet  low  sun  strikes 
a  thousand  broken  rainbows.  The  clumps  of 
wild  Roses  glow  with  their  red  haws  in  the  full 
light;  the  Elder  bushes  are  laden  with  clusters  of 
purple  berries ;  Goldenrod  and  wild  Asters  bloom, 
and  a  touch  of  fire  begins  to  light  up  the  Huckle- 
berry bushes,  "  Autumn  laying  here  and  there  a 
fiery  finger  on  the  leaves."  The  gray  rocks  show 
so  fair  in  the  changing  lights,  and  all  the  dear 
island  with  its  sights  and  sounds  is  set  in  the 
pale  light  summer-blue  of  a  smiling  sea  as  if  it 
were  June,  with  hardly  a  wave  to  break  its  happy 
calm.  Round  the  horizon  a  band  of  haze,  the 
same  ashes-of-roses  color  as  that  which  makes 


AN  ISLAND  GARDEN  125 

lovely  the  skies  of  May,  holds  the  fair  world  in  a 
light  embrace  for  this  one  day ;  a  few  white  clouds 
are  losing  themselves  in  the  pure  blue  above;  a 
few  sails  gleam  afar.  Though  the  tide  is  full,  it 
makes  no  murmur;  I  hear  only  the  drowsy  bees 
in  the  Hollyhocks,  the  young  fledgling  song- 
sparrows  trying  their  voices,  learning  the  sweet 
song  their  parents  are  pouring  at  intervals  on  the 
quiet  air,  and  the  chirp  and  twitter  of  other  birds, 
birds  of  passage,  with  finch  and  thrush,  nuthatch 
and  late  robin,  the  whistle  of  a  whitethroat,  the 
clanking  jar  of  the  kingfisher  that  perches  on  the 
mast  of  the  faithful  little  tug  Pinafore  (so  many 
years  our  only  link  with  the  mainland  in  winter), 
as  she  lies  at  her  wharf  in  the  upper  cove,  and 
shows  his  handsome  blue  and  gray  plumage  and 
white  collar  glittering  in  the  sun.  A  fisherman 
draws  his  nets  in  a  shining  white  skiff,  but  he 
makes  no  sound  that  I  can  hear.  The  season  is 
so  divinely  tranquil  and  sweet,  all  things  are  so 
beautiful  in  and  about  the  little  isle,  from  the  glit- 
tering seal  that  emerges  from  the  waves  to  sun 
himself  sometimes  on  the  seaweed-covered  rocks, 
to  the  smallest  flower  that  blossoms  in  my  gar- 
den ;  from  the  wonderful  jelly-fish  that  spreads  its 
large  diaphanous  cup,  expanding  and  contracting 
as  it  swims,  and  colored  like  a  great  melting  opal 
in  the  pale-green,  translucent  water,  to  the  bright- 
eyed  bats  that  flitter  at  dusk  when  the  evening 
star  is  sparkling  above  the  rich  red  of  the  sunset 
sky.  And  that  reminds  me  that  all  summer  a 
white  bat  has  skittered  ghostly  with  its  dark  com- 
panions, as  soon  as  twilight  fell,  about  the  place. 


126  AN  ISLAND  GARDEN 

Of  a  white  bat  never  before  have  I  heard,  but  all 
kinds  of  strange  and  remarkable  creatures  find 
their  way  here,  and  I  am  surprised  at  nothing. 

Once  more  the  weird  laughter  of  the  loons 
comes  to  my  ear,  the  distance  lends  it  a  musical, 
melancholy  sound.  From  a  dangerous  ledge  off 
the  lighthouse  island  floats  in  on  the  still  air  the 
gentle  tolling  of  a  warning  bell  as  it  swings  on  its 
rocking  buoy ;  it  might  be  tolling  for  the  passing 
of  summer  and  sweet  weather  with  that  persist- 
ent, pensive  chime. 

And  so  the  ripe  year  wanes.  From  turfy 
slopes  afar  the  breeze  brings  delicious,  pungent, 
spicy  odors  from  the  wild  Everlasting  flowers,  and 
the  mushrooms  are  pearly  in  the  grass.  I  gather 
the  seed-pods  in  the  garden  beds,  sharing  their 
bounty  with  the  birds  I  love  so  well,  for  there  are 
enough  and  to  spare  for  us  all.  Soon  will  set 
in  the  fitful  weather,  with  fierce  gales  and  sullen 
skies  and  frosty  air,  and  it  will  be  time  to  tuck  up 
safely  my  Roses  and  Lilies  and  the  rest  for  their 
long  winter  sleep  beneath  the  snow,  where  I  never 
forget  them,  but  ever  dream  of  their  wakening 
in  happy  summers  yet  to  be. 


<t&e  fcitoetfibe 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .   S    .   A 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  1««*  !*•»«-  •  Mr  n°H  helow 


SB 

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